


coming alive

by moaningmyrtle



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Adoption, Aftermath of a Case, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Growing Old Together, Hospitals, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moaningmyrtle/pseuds/moaningmyrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>each relationship goes through a series of firsts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Cooking Together_

 

They'd turned up the music so loud, it was nearly impossibly to have a conversation without yelling- they weren't talking, however, but instead dancing. Around the kitchen and through the living room, Connor spun Oliver around and dipped him towards the floor, grinding and laughing as the song sped up and slowed down. It wasn't exactly neighborly, all the noise they were surely ambushing the surrounding apartments with, but neither cared.

 

It wasn't until the timer above the stove beeped for a fourth time that their attention was caught, and both turned with a blush. Dancing wasn't something Oliver did around anyone but his own mirror, and Connor wasn't sure he'd ever performed a kick-step in his life, and yet the song ended and they realized they'd enjoyed every second of it.

 

A boiling pot of pasta was sending water over its rim and onto the stove, and Oliver prayed that the smoke alarm wouldn't go off and further the need for the other residents to knock on his door.

 

"Grab me that…shit, what do you call those things? With the holes, for the… you know," Connor struggled to find the words, picturing a certain cooking instrument that his mom had often used when he'd lived at home; that was the only time he'd ever seen one, living mostly off take-out and drive-through.

 

"Oh my god," Oliver stared at him incredulously, stifling a smile, "Are you serious? You're cooking our dinner."

 

"And it'll be fuckin' great, once we use the…You know what I'm talking about!"

 

Oliver leaned back against the counter, smirking as he carelessly let the water boil over, finding it more beneficial to watch Connor flail around the kitchen, "No, I really don't."

 

"Seriously?" Connor groaned, starting to pull open cupboard doors in a panic, "I hate you sometimes, I swear-"

 

"You love me," Oliver argued, finally reaching behind where he'd been resting and pulling out a strainer, "And it's called a colander."  
 

**Love.**

 

Connor took the colander from the others hands, set it down on the counter, and spun the dial on the stove to zero- all the while, his eyes were on Oliver.

 

"Yeah, uh," Connor was stuttering, which wasn't in his usual character- he prided himself on confidence and charisma, and yet that didn’t matter when it came to Oliver and the way he could send him into a tongue-tied stupor. With a shy smile, he looked up and took a small step foreword, "I do, you know?"

 

"Do what?" Oliver was flashing that devilish grin, the only time he didn't look completely innocent, "Say it."

 

"C'mon," Connor shoved him a little, wishing that he couldn't feel his cheeks heating up.

 

"Say it," Oliver closed in on him and set his palms on the counter behind where Connor was resting, reaching so close that he could feel the warm breath of his partner against his own lips, "Say you love me."

 

"You've had too much red wine," Connor tried to brush him off, but Oliver wasn't looking away, wasn’t stepping back, and his heart was racing quick beneath his rib cage. It might've been true that he'd had too much to drink, but that didn't mean he wasn't exactly right.

 

Words weren't coming easily, and so Connor leaned in and pressed a familiar kiss against Oliver's lips. Just as he was about to pull away and attend their dinner, the other wrapped his hands around the small of his back and surprised him, pulling him closed as they stumbled just a step against the counter, becoming breathless in each others arms.

 

Just as Connor was sure they were going to ignore the dinner and take this into the bedroom, or even just to the sofa in the living room, Oliver pulled away just as quickly as he'd dove in.

 

"Uh, that's not fair," Connor said, watching with his eyebrows furrowed as Oliver appeared unbothered and began to drain the water from the pasta.

 

Remaining silent, Oliver poured the pasta into a bowl and reached for a jar of sauce behind Connor, brushing his shoulder gently as he continued with a silent treatment.

 

"Should I add butter?"

 

As if he'd been talking to a wall, Oliver barely even turned.

 

"Alright, damn it," Connor's voice rose as he caused Oliver to abandon the pasta, catching him off guard as he pressed him up against the refrigerator and leaving little room between the two, "I love you, okay? I fuckin' love you. Why the hell would I move in here if I didn’t?"

 

Not long ago, those three little words would've sounded like a death sentence. A solid reason to run and hide. The very same confession that Conner had been trying to avoid his entire life, careful that he didn't sleep in the same bed more than once. Twice, for those special occasions, but never for a week. A month. Half a year.

 

God, was he ever done for.

 

Sometime between now and then, domestic bliss had become less of a joke.

 

Before he'd met Oliver, the idea seemed nothing if not laughable, wondering how in the hell it'd be possible to enjoy spending every day with one person. How could you devote so much time to something so pointless, a commitment to someone who would no doubt share a whole lot of bad habits that wouldn't be quite as attractive as a quick fuck behind a night club, sometime around two in the morning?

 

It was starting to make much more sense than Connor was willing to admit aloud- the bad habits were suddenly quite the opposite, becoming just another part of Oliver that he couldn't help but admire. It became all too easy to fall in love , watching as he absently scratched at his nose, rubbed his tired eyes after hours of staring at a laptop screen, and eventually forgot to lock the door before they crawled into a bed that wasn't always made; it didn’t matter as long as they were sharing those messy sheets, limbs tangled as they curled into each other on a mattress that he called 'theirs.'

 

As the words left his lips, Oliver's eyes widened and he smiled wide, "I needed to hear you say it."

 

"I'm _cooking_ for you," Connor responded dramatically, gesturing towards the food on the counter, "Shouldn't it be obvious by now?"

 

"You suck at it," Oliver admitted, teasing with a gentle squeeze on Connors side, "Cut the tomatoes?"

 

Rolling his eyes and turning back towards the counter, a wave of relief washed over him as Oliver wrapped his arms around his waist and let his palms roam beneath his shirt, laughing at the way he handled the knife like someone who had never so much as slice an apple.

 

There was a certain sense of comfort there that neither had ever felt before, as Oliver was beginning to look at his apartment less like it was simply a place to sleep and more as somewhere that they both could call home, and Connor was finding that after a long day in the firm, it was the only place he wanted to be.

 

As they mixed their pasta with a creamy red sauce and only a handful of different vegetables, a song came on that they both started humming too, proceeding to instantly make fun of the other for knowing it in the first place. It didn't take long until they forgot about the shame of memorizing the lyrics a long time ago, and sang along to some two-thousand and nine pop song like it was a karaoke.

 

The apartment was a little more crowded now that Connor had moved a few boxes full of stuff that he probably didn't need in the first place, and Oliver shoved the contents of their messy kitchen table to the side, setting down a couple bowls, spoons, and lifted a lit match to the candle sitting in the center.

 

"Seriously?"

 

Oliver rolled his eyes at the expected reaction, throwing the match into the sink and cranking the tap, "It'll be romantic."

 

"Should we, like, eat the same noodle too? Lady and the Tramp style?"

 

Scooping pasta into each of their bowls, he turned and raised his eyebrows playfully, "You wanna?"

 

It wasn't until that exact moment that Connor realized he'd do just about anything that Oliver asked, even if it meant re-enacting one of the wolds cheesiest movie moments.  If he were being completely honest with himself, that man could've gotten down on one knee and asked for his hand in marriage, and he would've answered yes in nothing flat.

 

The pasta didn't end up tasting all that excellent, the noodles a bit too soft and their sauce being one of the cheapest from the grocery store's aisles, but that didn't matter in the slightest.

 

Instead, they shared a bottle of Merlot and let the music fill the rooms of the apartment, enjoying the others company more than the food itself. Clinking their glasses together, Connor's lips tugged into a small smile and he met Oliver's admiring stare, "Staying home isn't so bad."

 

"No? You should call in sick, and we can try again tomorrow," Oliver suggested, both joking and hopeful that he might instead take it seriously. It was with the idea in mind that Connor faked a cough, flashed a playful wink, and mumbled something about a bug that was going around.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Confessions To The Other_

 

It was a secret that had been weighing on his chest since the moment he'd walked through Oliver's apartment door, lugging behind him boxes filled with all that he owned and knowing full well that everything wasn't okay, even as he pretended it was.

 

The words slipped out with no warning beforehand, "I'm not a drug addict."

 

There was no other way to word it, and Oliver's expression immediately became caught between pissed off and extremely confused.  Everything had been fine approximately ten seconds ago, as they sat on the couch watching cheesy television shows and throwing popcorn across the room.

 

After a minute of deafening silence, he realized the painful truth- this could be a deal breaker.

 

"What- what the hell are you talking about?"  
 

"I've never even…I smoked a bit of weed, back in high school," Connor admitted, hating the way that Oliver seemed to be piecing together something in his own thoughts, wanting to make sure that nothing but the truth was spoke from this moment on; he'd lied to his boyfriend before, and it wasn't a guilt that he'd ever wanted to deal with again, "But I lied, that one night. It wasn't…something else happened, and I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone."

 

"Connor, are you serious?" Oliver was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head, his voice rising in a certain way that caused his skin to grow small goose bumps, "Or is this like, some trick to get me off your back, because your relapsing? Hold on, is this a relapse- are you on something right now?"

 

Connor shook his head immediately and stood up in a panic, "God, no! Ollie, listen-"

 

"I get it," Oliver was standing up as well, but only to leave the room, the disgust on his face piercing Connor where it stung the most, "You wanted to stay, so you had to make up something crazy, a story so fucked up that I'd have to let you stay. That's really mature, Connor. Next time, try fucking flowers."  
 

"Oliver!" He shouted, chasing him into the kitchen where he saw his boyfriends fingers tremble around the coffee pot handle. It was worse than he'd ever imagined to have Oliver avoiding his eyes because he simply couldn’t look at him right now, so angry that he'd rather spill boiling hot coffee over his hands, struggling to calm himself as Connor tried desperately to get his attention.

 

"I've got to explain something, just listen-"

 

Oliver laughed, but it was dry, humorless, and it hurt like hell.

 

"Like that night you came here, breaking down because you'd supposedly used again? Right, like I'll make that mistake again. God, I should've known," Oliver was too worked up to drink the coffee he'd poured in a nervous attempt to busy himself, suppressing the urge to shout. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but when Connor had claimed that he'd loved him, when he moved in with little hesitation- everything appeared perfect, but wasn't that the point of lying?  
 

"This is going to sound insane," Connor began, following his boyfriend as he abandoned the steaming mug and grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger.

 

"I need a drink," Oliver mumbled, reaching down for his boots, "Just- leave me alone."

 

"This is going to sound way worse than a drug problem," He continued, fighting the urge to grab the shoes from Oliver's hands and toss them across the room. It didn't seem to catch his attention, ignoring him now as he headed for the door in a rush to get out of the same apartment building as the man who couldn't get his story straight.

  
"I...We killed Sam." The confession finally caused Oliver to pause, his hand around the door knob as his body became stiff. Ten seconds felt more like an hour, waiting until he eventually spoke with hitched breath and his fingers crossed.

 

"Excuse me? What kind of cover up is that-"

 

"It's true," Connor insisted, reaching over to grab Oliver's hand and pull it away from the door, "Burnt his body. Tossed his bones into a dumpster."

 

"Why the hell would you say that?"

 

The tragic night had been burned into his memory, something that he'd never forget. Explaining what had happened, however, wasn't as easy as it was to replay it over in his mind like a traumatizing scene in a horror movie that had scarred his subconscious.

 

"Because… I want you to trust me," He admitted, and to his relief, Oliver turned away from the door, "It was a fuckin' mess, and the stakes were high. You were there, and I needed you, but I couldn't-"

 

It wasn't surprising that Oliver wasn’t convinced, "You couldn’t tell me that you murdered your teacher's husband? Do you really expect me to believe something so-"

 

"Not really," Connor confessed, shrugging as he leaned his back against the wall, "I know my track record is shit, alright?"

 

"Then why the hell are you still lying?"

 

"It was Michaela who sent that fucker flying over the railing," He continued, ignoring the way that Oliver's eyes widened with both doubt and concern, the way that his skull crashed against the hardwood floor causing him to cringe at the memory, "I stuffed the body in my car, though, so that was on me. Took an axe to his-"

 

Interrupting him, Oliver lowered his voice and set down his shoes, "You're serious?"

 

"Dead serious," Connor answered with a nod, nearly laughing at the irony, "You could go to the cops right now, sell us out- if they searched my car, I'd be behind bars by tomorrow."

 

Speaking much softer now, Oliver finally met his stare and found nothing but honesty behind his eyes, possibly fear, "No, I- so when you kept saying that you screwed up, you weren't talking about using. You were-"

 

"Yeah," Connor nodded, his throat swelling with remorse; it felt both a relief and a horrible realization to speak the truth aloud, for the first time to someone who hadn't been involved in the accident.

 

"Holy shit," Oliver breathed out, and before he knew what was happening, familiar arms were wrapping him into a hug so tight that his heart swelled and tears formed that he wasn't willing to address. This was far from what he'd expected, assuming he'd be condemned or yelled at, possibly even left behind as a sinful murderer. Instead, the warmth that he was met with caused his heart to race, and it took him a moment before his surprise faded and he leaned into his boyfriends chest, swallowing down a cry.

 

Each time that Oliver had attempted to help him with a drug problem that he didn't really have, it only furthered his guilt, and yet telling him the truth seemed far worse- until now, as Oliver whispered comforting words into his ear and suggested that they both grab a drink instead, as it hadn't seemed necessary until now.

 

-

 

The bar wasn't extremely busy anymore, as one A.M. rolled around and only a few stragglers were left drinking at the counter. Lights had been dimmed, and the music's volume was lowered to a respectful level; Connor wouldn't have minded it just a little louder, so that it would've been easier to talk about a crime that no one would take lightly.

 

"It was Annalise," Connor explained as he stared down at a stain on the bar counter, his fingers wrapped around a cold pint, "She pinned an ex-detective, some unsuspecting fucker- I don’t know, she said she'd keep us safe. I tried to go to the police, but I should've known that nothing gets past that eagle-eyed slave driver."

 

"Why didn't you just tell me, the night it happened?"

 

Connor shrugged, "I wanted to, I just didn’t want to get you involved in a hot case like that. There was no way I was about to put you in the same place as us five. So I-"

 

"You made something up," Oliver finished his sentence, sounding unusually casual and causing Connor to cringe in the expectation of what he was about to say, "No, it's… it's actually okay. I get it, that must've been horrible. I'm, uh, I'm really sorry."

 

"Huh?" Connor looked up from his hands with surprise, his eyes wide in disbelief, "You're…sorry? You don't want to, I don’t know, walk away? Call the cops? Pretend you never met my dumb ass?"

 

"From what I know, that creep was guilty," Oliver shrugged, switching Connor's empty glass with his; he'd never been much of a drinker, and it was obvious that his boyfriend needed the buzz more, "I believe you, and I'm sorry. You know, it's just a relief to know you aren't gunna have a bad day and take it out on an eight ball. I mean, murdering me wouldn’t be much better, but-"

 

Connor laughed as the other broke out into a contagious smile, reaching his hand across the table and discretely wrapping it around Oliver's thigh. There wasn't enough words to express the gratitude of being forgiven so easily, and yet he wasn't sure why it wasn't weighing on his partners mind.

 

"I don't get it," Connor said, unsure as to why he was asking instead of simply accepting, "Why are you so… How can this be okay with you?"

 

With a shrug, Oliver leaned over the table and whispered, "Just try not to kill me, okay? I trust you. Drug problem or not, I'm here for you."

 

"You're… God, you're insane. Amazing, but insane," Connor sighed and ran his fingers nervously through his short hair, his chest rising after weeks of being dragged down by his own lies, "I mean, like, I don’t even know what I deserve anymore, but it's definitely not this."

 

But Oliver wasn't mad anymore. The story made more sense than the idea of Connor's addiction, and honestly, it was a load off his mind that he didn’t have to check his underwear drawer for dime bags or drug money. If the trial was lead by someone who already knew exactly what had happened, and someone else was going down for the crime, then they could deal with this; together was easier than apart.

 

If the night had continued without a wink of sleep between the two men, it wasn't spent filled of guilt or anger or betrayal, but instead because they had stayed up discovering the true meaning of make-up sex.


	3. Chapter 3

_Missing them_

It'd been a very long time, almost five years, that Oliver had been getting used to living in an empty apartment. The silence had become comforting, his closet neat and tidy, everything in its rightful place and no one to come in and ruin that. When he'd lived with his family back in his hometown, the house was always crowded, messy, loud- after Connor had moved in, unasked but none the less welcomed, it quickly began to remind him of home, and the silence was soon replaced with snoring, laughing, yelling, and it all felt right.

 

The silence didn't feel satisfying any longer, as Oliver came home to an empty apartment for the first time in over a month and sat restlessly on the sofa, the television turned on but not one part of his mind focused on the show. If he were to watch it, actually pay attention, then he might imagine Connor laughing along to a joke or making fun of the half-assed acting, and that would only make this week a little more unbearable.

 

 'I've got to go away until Friday, it's for this ass-backwards case that Annalise is dealing with,' Connor had said the night before, slightly panicked as he shoved clothes into a suitcase. Sucking in his pride, he'd assured him it would be fine, maybe even a little exciting to travel, acting as though a week apart didn’t feel like a jail sentence. It was good for a to-be lawyer to gain experience, contacts, reputation, and so Oliver smiled and waved as he walked out the door with his luggage dragging behind him.

 

**Day One**

 

Poured a coffee, and checked his phone. Opened a broken laptop, knowing that he'd have to fix it before the oncoming deadline, and yet he continued to stare at his phone screen instead.

 

A couple long hours passed as he consumed too much caffeine and ignored the task at hand, waiting for the moment when finally, the vibration of his cell phone rumbled on the table-top.

 

'Jetlag sucks.'

 

A picture of Connor, his tired eyes peeking out from beneath the familiar white sheets of a hotel bed, was attached to the two-word text message. The dark bags were evident but didn’t at all take away from how stunning he continued to find his boyfriend, always managing to question why he'd ever looked twice at his horribly average appearance. A messy head of bed-head replaced his usual obsessively styled hair, and Oliver wished that he could run his fingers through it and mumble a sleepy 'good morning.'

 

Because he couldn't reach through his screen, the picture instead became his background, and he leaned the cellphone up against the laptop as he worked, peering over at it every few minutes as in incentive to keep going.

 

**Day Two**

 

Too much take-out. Why had he ordered this much? It might've been because he'd instinctually asked for the same combo meal as the one that him and Connor often shared, and surprisingly, his boyfriend ate about twice the amount he did and got away with it just as well.

 

Feeling full after a few forkfuls of noodles and rice, he began to cover the numerous tins of leftover Chinese food and toss them into his mostly-empty fridge.

 

It was nearing midnight when he gave in and dialed Connor's number, waiting as the hollow tone transitioned into a voice he was dying to hear. A part of him wondered if he was about to sound desperate or lonely, but another part decided that he didn't care.

 

"Ollie? Hey," Connor answered, out of breathe as if he'd ran to another room to answer the call and Oliver could almost hear the way that the corner of his lips rose into a small smile.

 

Leaning against the wall, Oliver let out a deep huff of relief and grinned back, "This is probably going to sound melodramatic, but it's, uh,  really nice to hear your voice."

 

From a distance, Asher's irritatingly loud voice rang through the speaker before Connor had the chance to respond, "No time for phone sex with the hubby, Walsh! We got shit to do!"

 

"Jesus Christ," Oliver looked up at the clock with an eyebrow raised, confirming that it was in fact midnight. It was usually until ten or eleven that he'd spend his nights at the firm, but never quite this late, "You're still working?"

 

A heavy sigh responded, "This? This is not a vacation."

 

Even if he sounded a little moody and irritable, it was better than nothing at all, and Oliver laughed a little at his displeased tone, "Ignore him for a couple minutes, tell me how it's going."

 

"Slowly," Connor admitted through a groan, lowering his voice to a whisper before he added, "I think Annalise might literally hate us."

 

Another yell caused Oliver to pull the speaker away from his ear, cringing as he heard Oliver shout back, 'Can you give me a damn second?' It wasn't overly surprising to hear the following, "Shit, Ollie, I gotta go."

 

"Yeah," Oliver nodded to himself, frowning but expectant, "Yeah, go."

 

A moment passed as he waited for his boyfriend to hang up, his eyes widening when Connor surprised him, sounding so casual that it caused his heart to race, "Love you."

 

"Oh. I love you, too," His chest suddenly lighter, Oliver cleared the lump from his throat and continued, "Don't forget to, you know, take a break every forty-eight hours or so. Eat something, maybe drink some water."

 

"Thanks mom," Connor answered, sarcastic and although Oliver couldn't see a thing, he was almost sure that an eye roll had accompanied his snappy remark, "I'll call you back tomorrow. Get some sleep."

 

The line fell dead, and he hesitantly stuffed his cellphone into his pocket and peered over in to the empty bedroom. Cold sheets and a mattress too big for one, he didn’t bother changing into something comfier before he fell into the bed, restless for a minute before rolling onto the side that Connor had claimed only a day or two after they began to share it.

 

A sweet smell of familiar cologne was the only reason he was able to shut his eyes for long enough that his brain might finally switch off, trying desperately to pretend that he wasn't alone as he buried his face in Connors pillow and missed a time when sleeping alone was perfectly normal.

 

**Day Three**

 

A cold November morning brought along it's usual strong winds and heavy rain, and Oliver woke up from a nap to find that he'd left his window open, sniffling and desperately searching the cupboards for a bottle of cold medicine. If it was possible to feel any more bored that he had the day before, he'd discovered it wrapped in a blanket and moping around his empty apartment, unable to go outside, too sick to have an appetite, and soon discovering that the storm had wiped out his television connection.

 

Not long after his satellite became useless, every single light in his apartment darkened at the exact same time; Oliver groaned and threw himself down on the sofa. There was nothing else to do, so little to distract himself with, that he had no choice but to curl up on the couch cushions and daydream.

 

It wasn't under his control that each and every train of thought lead back to Connor; the way that he often pulled Oliver closer in the middle of the night, or drank his coffee black and yet still sported an unimpressed expression after each sip, even the times when he'd claimed to clean the house and instead swept all the crumbs into the corner of the room.

 

The ringtone that he'd set only for Connor's calls brought him back from an illness-induced haze, and he quickly dug through the blankets and brought the phone to his ear, "Hello?"

 

Connors first response came a moment after his 'hello' turned into a deep cough, "Hey- There a reason why you sound like you should be quarantined?"

 

"Left my windows open," He admitted, following his confession with an unplanned but well-timed sneeze and falling back into the cushions, ignoring the way his limbs ached with each slight movement, "It's fine, 'm fine. How's things there?"

 

A few seconds passed in silence, "Well now I feel like shit about this, but I might be another week. I know I was supposed to fly back on Friday, but the clients a goddamn dumbass. Got us stuck in a corner with this case. How sick are you? This isn't about-"

 

"No, no," Oliver interrupted him, his stomach dropping at the idea of another week alone; it took all the energy that he had to act excited about this, finding that he would've rather woken up with a fever and the flu than have heard the bad news, "It's good for you, you know- the job experience, a little time away from Philly."

 

"But-"

 

"Don't worry about it," Oliver mumbled tiredly, wondering if he didn't sound all that convincing.

 

"I miss you ," Connor admitted after a beat, "And I-"  
 

The phone beeped once, a long drawn out tone cutting their conversation short, and his screen proceeded to fade to a frustrating black.

 

"Damn it."

 

Without an ounce of power running to the many outlets in his apartment, Oliver swore at the dead battery and tossed his phone onto the floor. This was going to be a long two weeks.

 

**Day Four**

 

A smell was wafting through the apartment long after the sun had risen; Oliver sniffed the air, still half-asleep with eyes shut and covered in too many blankets, and swore that he was dreaming of soup.

 

The following sound of a pot banging against the floor caused him to jump up with a gasp, and he realized quickly that he wasn't dreaming, but that the actual smell of chicken-noodle soup had filled his apartment. Someone was in the kitchen, making enough noise to wake the dead, as even the radio had been turned on and he could hear a quiet humming.

 

With concern etched across his face, Oliver's eyebrows pulled together and he ignored the way his head spun as he stood up and peered out the bedroom door.

  
"Connor?"

 

Standing in the kitchen with a wooden ladle in one hand and a box of what looked like soup mix in the other, Connor spun on his heels as one side of his lips curved into a smile, "Hey."

 

The blanket he'd wrapped over his shivering body fell to the ground as Oliver raced across the room and wrapped his arms around his boyfriends broad shoulders, burying his face in the black knit sweater that smelled exactly how he'd expected it to.

 

A whole hearted laugh caused him to lean back, "Don’t you dare laugh. Why are you home? I thought-"

 

"I guess it pays sometimes to have someone like Michaela on the team," Connor shrugged, still beaming at the reaction he hadn't expected to be so welcoming, "She's annoying as all hell, but she can do the job."

 

Although it came out sounding like an attempted joke, he genuinely could've thanked anyone who gave Connor the chance to get back on a return flight, "Remind me to send her a 'thank-you' card."

 

"I'm making you soup-"

 

Before he'd finished explaining, Oliver leaned foreword and pressed an eager kiss against his lips, so genuine that Connor' let slip a small moan as they stumbled back against the kitchen counter and said hello the best way that they knew how.

 

"-and now I'm sick."

 

"I'm sorry," Oliver couldn't help but smile, delirious at the abruptness of Connors return, "I'm just... happy you're home?"

 

"Home," Connor repeated as if he was savoring the word, squeezing Oliver's hand, "You know, me too."


	4. Chapter 4

_First Christmas_

 

There simply wasn’t an excuse for playing Christmas music before December 1st, and yet through the thin walls of Connor and Oliver's apartment, 'Baby, It's Cold Outside' began to ring through the halls for the hundredth time that week.

 

"I'm going to kill her," Oliver rested his head against his palms, elbows on the counter. It'd been less than a minute since Connor had stepped through the apartment's door, still bundled in a snow-covered coat as he reached down to untie his boots, his appearance worthy of a winter themed clothing magazine, "Seriously- or wait, can I hire you?"

 

A comment as such would've usually caused Connor to react defensively, but instead it seemingly passed right over his head, "Right, sure. Hey, listen-"

 

"Oh god, what'd you do?" Oliver's eyes widened a moment after he'd spun around on his heels, facing Connor's seemingly panicked appearance with suspicion. It wasn't often that it happened, but when his boyfriend was freaking out, there wasn't a thing he could do to hide it, "You look all nervous, like you… Please don't tell me, is this another Sam Keating situation?"

 

An odd noise coming from outside the closed door caused him to peer over Connor's shoulder, eyebrows rising, and yet his boyfriend didn't seem phased in the slightest as he rambled on, "I know you said that you don't really care about Christmas, and I never really have either- I mean, my family lives for it, but- I'm getting off topic, damn it. Remember when you said that it was starting to get lonely around here, cause I've been working so much and you're always stuck here with a pile of laptops, and I just- It's like a month early, I know that, but she couldn't wait any longer-"

 

"What do you mean 'her,' what'd you do?"

 

Another inaudible hoot came from the hallway, and the corner of Connor's lips tugged into a small smile as he reached hesitantly for the door knob, "Merry Christmas, Ollie."

 

As the door swung open, the first thing that caught Oliver's eye was an undecorated Christmas tree just small enough the fit through the door, and beside it sat a cage about the size of a microwave. Through the holes in the plastic box, he could see curly golden fur.

 

It wasn't surprising that he was completely speechless for a moment as he kneeled down and pulled the snap open on the front of the cage, his heart lifting higher than he thought possible as a ball of fluff climbed clumsily through the opening and immediately jumped into Oliver's lap.

 

"She's a terrier," Connor commented  as he watched the puppy lick at Oliver's face, barely trying to defend himself as she pawed at his chest and attempted to lick his face,  a smile breaking across his face, "Six weeks old today. And the tree, I don’t know- you said you didn't even bother last year, and… that's just not right."

 

If he wasn't mistaken, there was a misty glare behind Oliver's square-framed glasses, scooping the puppy up in his arms before he stood. Feeling all too tongue-tied, the dog became a bit squished between the two men as he reached foreword and planted a 'thank-you' on Connor's wind chapped lips.

 

"Where'd you find her?" Oliver finally managed to respond, staring down at her floppy ears and big brown eyes. There seemed so little left to surprise each other with and yet Connor managed to bring him a new happiness when he was least expecting it, "This… she's perfect."

 

"It was Michaela, really," Connor shrugged, finding the way that Oliver bounced around the kitchen with the pup in his arms was no less than delightful. It didn’t make much sense as to why, but there was something about the scene that made it feel as though the holidays were coming early this year, "Had a friend who had a litter and needed them gone- that’s why she's here about a month before schedule, sorry about that. Thought if I got a tree, it might even it out."

 

"What about-"

 

With a touch of colour rising to his cheeks, he nodded presumably to a shopping bag on the floor, "Michaela, again. You think a girl like that doesn't have an extra box of shiny tree balls?"

 

"Ornaments," Oliver corrected him, but he couldn't hide the fact that he was beaming; Christmas reminded him of family that he didn't see all that often, and so he'd often avoided thinking about it altogether, but this was a gift that he could've never said no too, "I've never had a dog, my family-"

 

"Hated animals, I know, I remembered, " Connor listened when Oliver ranted, he really did, even if he didn’t always respond with much bravo.

 

They didn't have to turn on their own Christmas music as they enjoyed their time together, because their neighbor played it loud enough that they could hear even the lyrics through the paper thin walls. Even Oliver found himself humming along as they decorated, pulling this and that out of the bag of whatever Michaela was able to dig out of her attic.

 

"What's this supposed to be?" Oliver was holding out a plastic branch, the hyper puppy jumping on his hind legs to try and snag it from his hold- everything seemed to be a dog toy now, except for the actual bones and ropes he'd picked up on the way home.

 

Connor flashed a half smile and grabbed it before the dog did, immediately hanging it on the ceiling fan above their heads, "Mistletoe. Kiss me."

 

"What? Mm- oh."

 

It was starting to look a lot like, well, Christmas. They'd begun to string up lights but most laid messy on the rug still, as they distracted themselves beneath the berries for a moment longer, and bright red candles had been lit and set on every available surface. The tree wasn't real, so I guess that was their only holiday downfall, but the pine needles might've been too good for the puppy to ignore and Connor was, admittedly, a bit worried.

 

"Grab that end," He pointed to the string of lights, tangled on the floor. They circled the tree a few times, laughing in amused frustration as they tried to lead the other, "No, wait-you of this way, I'll go- Oliver, no, over here!"

 

"I just realized," Oliver looked around the apartment with his eyebrows furrowed, admiring their work- there was a wreath hanging where their coats normally would, a jar of candy canes on the living room table that he'd surely eat too many of, scented pinecones and wooden snowman's, but still it remained incomplete, "Oh- we don't have stockings."

 

"Well, you don't have a fireplace," Connor commented casually, falling back into the sofa as the puppy crawled onto his lap, "Isn't that, sort of, where they're supposed to go?"

 

"We can hang them over the television," Oliver suggested instead as he reached for his coat, grabbing Connor's attention as he continued to slip his shoes on, "C'mon, lets go. You bought a leash, right?"

 

"Well, yeah," Connor said, setting the puppy by his feet as he stood up, "but baby, it's cold outside."

 

"Cute, but I'm not singing with you," Oliver replied to his boyfriends cheeky grin, "Put Pasko on the chain, we're going to Target."

 

The name was spoken in what sounded like another language, and as he reached for the leash that he'd left on the counter top, he asked with curiosity, "Pasko?"

 

"It's Christmas in Filipino," Oliver kneeled down to scratch behind the puppy's ears, cooing as if he were talking to a new born,  "Isn't that right my little Christmas dog?"

 

"I like it," Connor shrugged, giving in as he looped the clasp through Pasko's collar. They looped their fingers together as they headed out the door, it had become habit, instinct; it wasn't until he'd met Oliver that he wanted to walk through the streets showing off proudly who he'd fallen for.

 

As they pushed the door open, the sound of Christmas music became even louder one place over, and Connor gestured towards their neighbors apartment, "She's moved onto jingle bells, that can't be good."

 

"Just walk faster," Oliver laughed, and the puppy sprinted along with them towards the elevator, his short legs still lazy and unsure.

 

The sun had quickly melted the days snow, leaving behind puddles that Pasko found absolutely intriguing, and they stopped for a moment to watch as he splashed and jumped, palms pressed together as Connor turned to ask, "So, what's the real reason you don't like Christmas?"

 

Oliver looked down at the grass, "I told you- it's just exhausting."

 

"Bullshit," Connor answered as they continued down the sidewalk, looking over at Oliver with narrowed eyes, "What if I said you didn't have to get me anything?"

 

A heavy sigh and Oliver squeezed his hand subconsciously, "It's not that, I just- it reminds me of my family, and you know, when I was a kid it was a big thing, lasted at least a week, and now- well, they don't have the money to fly out, and I doubt we could make it out with all your work and school."

 

"That's kind of what I suspected," Connor nodded, but there was a secret in the way he spoke, "So- what about this."

 

Oliver cocked his head, "Hm?"

 

"Road trip," He replied casually, having thought this out a million times, taking the leash from Oliver's hand as he explained, "December 24th, we drive out to Michigan. I'll buy two tickets for your parents instead, and they'll meet us at my folks. On the 27th, everyone can go home and the in-laws problem will have been dealt with."

 

"Seriously?" Oliver choked out, a rush of hope and disbelief flooding his mind; for the second time in one day, his boyfriend shocked him with something he'd never thought possible. Fixing laptops hadn't brought him enough money in the past few years, and all he'd been managing to afford had been bills, food, and dates that he hadn't wanted to go on until he'd met Connor- now, the idea of seeing his family again sounded unheard of, and yet here Connor was, suggesting that they all meet at in his hometown.

 

-

 

It was exactly three hundred and sixty-four days ago, and never had a year passed by so fast.

 

Connor had confessed to his sister about a boyfriend that he didn't actually have, that he could potentially love, and though he'd asked her ever so politely not to spill the information to their loving but slightly overbearing mother, it didn’t take any longer than three months until she'd slipped up.

 

There might've been a possibility that Connor had lied that night in an attempt to convince himself that there was a chance to earn Oliver's undeserved forgiveness, or maybe he just wanted to pretend that he hadn't screwed everything up, back home in complicated Philadelphia. So he stepped off the plane and went, with flowers in hand, to apologize- it was last Christmas that he realized he wanted it to be true, that Oliver was the only one who he'd proudly call his boyfriend.

 

Of course, that wasn't what did him in. It was when he showed up with staggered breath and waves of panic pushing him over the edge, Oliver simply couldn't say no- it wasn't about the cheating anymore, as his concern overcame the urge to be mean, push him away, tell him to find somewhere else to break down.

 

A while after that, Oliver had called with news that a mother might only dread to hear, that he'd tested positive for HIV, and his family had flown out to come bearing comfort, love, and cover a few medical bills. It only happened that Connor was stuck at school and work for about eighteen hours that day, and though they'd offered for him to join them for a quick lunch-date, he decided he'd rather be a lousy partner for a day than an embarrassment to his boyfriend's family for however long it took them to forget how awful he tended to behave around parents.

 

'We'll deal with them on the holidays,' they'd said many times before, ignoring the inevitable for reasons that neither discussed often.

 

Once there was no denying their long-standing relationship, Connor's uncomfortably welcoming family had agreed to throw Christmas dinner in his home town before he could finish the question, and so they prepared for a holiday mash-up. They'd sent two tickets to Idaho and planned a road trip, hoping to leave on the morning before Christmas and show up in time for turkey, Brussel sprouts, carrots, and the meeting of the in-laws.

 

"We were supposed to leave four hours ago," Oliver mumbled, turning up the volume on the television, which he coincidentally hadn't changed from the weather channel all day. The newscaster announced for the fortieth time that Philadelphia was currently experiencing a storm equal to the Blizzard of 96', and that the city was under a severe warning, advising the locals to stay off the road until it cleared. With twenty-eight inches and expecting another four to come, they were currently snowed in. The concern across his expression was painfully evident as he rubbed his temples with shaking fingers, "Oh dear god, I can see it now. No one to introduce him, Tatay's going to be stubborn as always, and Nanay- she'll bring something stringy and brown, and then she'll get insulted when no one tries it. We were supposed to be the buffers! There was supposed to be protocol, Conner!"  
 

It was in Connor's past knowledge that Christmas Eve was supposed to relaxing, and he was determined to make it so until the roads cleared up, "There's nothing we can do now. Listen- my dad can talk just about anyone's ear off, no matter how stubborn, and my mom is nothing if not a little too nice- she'll eat the mushy food, trust me. They'll be fine, the place has, like, seven empty bedrooms?"

 

"That'll piss my dad off too," Oliver groaned, staring desperately up at the screen as if he could will the weatherman to say what he wanted to hear. Once again, the 'severe weather' report showed up instead of good news, and he began to ramble, "Honestly, he's a little racist, if not angry at just about everyone. Basically wore the same outfit for twenty years to get me through college-"

 

"Oliver," Connor interrupted him, unable to conceal an amused grin as he pushed himself from the sofa and dropped onto the floor where the other was sitting inches from the screen, laying his head down lazily on Oliver's lap as Pasko waddled over and rested his chin on Connor's thigh, "Don't panic. Who cares if Christmas is December twenty-sixth this year, we'll get there. Just- preferably not dead, buried in snow, or stuck in the car garage?"

 

The snow had stuck to the glass as if it were covered in icy translucent feathers, freezing the windows shut and blurring their city view, now covered in an ivory sheet. It was cold inside and out, but they were both curled in Oliver's chunkiest sweaters, having already packed their nicer clothes and left their suitcases by the door.

 

"Yeah, we'll see," He muttered as if he knew without a doubt that the outcome of their absences would be negative, reaching up to turn the volume down as he tried to accept their fate.

 

"So we can't order pizza, go out for dinner, or cook a turkey," Connor commented, contemplating their options and finding that anyway they spent the night would be fine with him; the delay hadn't really worried him, confident in his family's ability to keep things classy and a little satisfied with the timing, "But- there is those microwave dinners and a whole lot of egg nog in the fridge."

 

As they listened to muffled Christmas music and added Captain Morgan and candy canes to their mugs, the storm outside continued on with wind knocking the glass of their windows and the snow rising on the ground, higher with each minute they waited.

 

Setting down his fork after their microwaved dinners were left empty on the table, Connor had called and explained the delay to his parents and they weren't the least bit annoyed. If not, they were excited for one on one in-law bonding, and he felt only a little bad for Oliver's folks.

 

"I was going to give you this tomorrow," Oliver began sheepishly as he stood up, heading into their bedroom and away from where Connor could see, "But it looks like we'll be driving for most of it. Pretend it's six hours from now, alright? Or else this will seem against tradition."

 

Connor sighed, "I told you, you didn't have to get me anything."  
 

"Yeah, and then you gave me a dog," Oliver replied through the walls, obviously searching through his dresser drawers if the slamming were any clue, "Close your eyes."

 

"Really?"

 

"Please," Oliver called out, and Connor obliged with a huff- surprises weren't always his thing, and so he was equally as nervous as he was excited. Footsteps neared him, followed by the tiny scratching of little paws, and only stopped when he was sure that they were right in front of the chair where he was sitting, "Okay, open."

 

A chain, silver and shining in the light coming from above, was between Oliver's fingers. It was flawless, each solid silver thread looping through the other, and leaving only a small space for what looked to be engraved.

 

"What's it say?" Connor reached for it carefully as if nothing were more delicate, letting Oliver wrap it around his wrist, brushing their hands together as he did so. After the clasp was secure, he spun it along his wrist to investigate, "Oh, Oliver."

 

_'I promise.'_

 

"You said you didn't like jewellery, so I'm sorry," Oliver's cheeks were blushed as he knelt down beside Connor, an unsure smile on his face, "And this isn't a proposal, it's a promise. Don't freak out, I just love you, like, more than you even realize, you know? And I wanted you to remember that, until-"

 

With his fingers threading through his hair and behind his neck, Connor couldn't help but kiss Oliver in an attempt to cover up just how emotional he suddenly felt; it'd been months since he'd been planning to take out a hidden ring in their closet that he'd reserved for Oliver, and the bracelet wrapped around his wrist made him sure that it wouldn't be long until he could.

 

"I love you," He mumbled in between breathless kisses, losing themselves as they made-out against walls, slowly making their way to the bedroom, "God, I love you so much."


	5. Chapter 5

_New Years Together_

 

It'd been a while since Connor had met with his tight knit group of friends, all the students having travelled home for the holidays. Only, it'd always been part of the plan that on December 31st, they'd be meeting in Times Square- school started in less than a week, and so, tonight they would celebrate. Everything had worked out for them, through tests, trials, and the sometimes overwhelming assumption that evidence would eventually surface, it'd all turned out somewhat okay; to that, Connor would drink.

 

The bar they'd stationed themselves at was only feet away from where the crystal ball sat atop a tall flagpole and was surrounded by nearly a million people, and live music could be heard throughout the entire square, lights flashing and the audience cheering. It was crowded, all the stools having been claimed quite a while ago, but Michaela and Laurel were dancing amidst the partying club, Asher busy challenging Wesley to shot after shot, and Connor was whispering into Oliver's ear.

 

"You've been staring at me funny all day," Oliver commented, sporting a goofy smile that made it obvious he didn't mind; it was true, admittedly, that Connor had been struggling to keep his eyes off his boyfriend ever since they'd all packed into a van and headed off towards New York, "What's up with you?"

 

There was a small felt box beneath his jacket pocket that he ran his fingers over subconsciously, a blush warming his cheeks, and the dimmed lights and surrounding chatter forced him to lean even closer to respond, "I'm just…happy, alright?"

 

Their knees brushed together as he planted a quick but loving kiss square against his jaw, leaning back with a wide grin and watching as Oliver shook his head with amused disbelief, "Yeah, alright. You know, I've never kissed someone at midnight. Will you?"

 

"You bet your fine ass I will," Connor replied without hesitance, squeezing Oliver's thigh before reaching for his half-finished drink. A television behind the bar was turned up so that the entirety of the club could hear, and on the screen they'd been announcing a countdown for the past couple hours, along with live taping of the concert going on further down the square- in the corner of the screen, a clock flashed 11:33 and his heart beat sped faster than he thought possible, chugging back what was left in his glass to calm his unsteady nerves.

 

The slick grey jacket Oliver had buttoned up over a white collared shirt reminded Connor of the night they'd first met, when his first impression of the seemingly dorky IT guy had thrown him off in bed later that night, after they'd escaped the confines of the dark club and escaped to an empty apartment instead. It wasn’t his assumption that the man he'd practically used to get information for a case would've changed everything he'd thought he'd known about relationships, in that he didn't want to be involved in one or get used to the idea of commitment.

 

It'd been so long since that day, and yet he could still picture the way that Oliver caught his eye as he relentlessly flirted with him over drinks, staring up at him through square-rimmed glasses and making it impossible for Connor to deny his obvious attraction to the shy boy who worked in the advertising agency.

 

As his thoughts drifted towards coercing Oliver back to the hotel room soon after midnight, Michaela came up with a wobble in her step, nearly letting her heels buckle beneath her as she wrapped her arm around Connor's shoulders for balance; they'd become more than simply two students who put up with each other at work, "Okay- who's ready for this?"

 

Beside where they'd been sitting, Wesley spun on his stool in a drunken fashion and let out a muffled cheer, only to be followed by Asher, who's loud shout rang out over the music and caused a few to turn and stare, "Hell yeah! Let's party people!"

 

Outside the large doors was crammed with thousands, and yet Asher was too far gone to be overly polite as he pushed through the crowd and lead the group towards a barricade. A news camera wheeled across the border and they all cheered, smiling and laughing as the man behind the rolling tripod flashed them a thumbs up. The air was chilled, but the body-to-body circumstances made it hard to feel cold as they danced along to a song that they'd all heard on the radio.

 

Laurel turned to the group as they huddled beneath where the ball would soon drop, bundled beneath a dress coat and a large scarf, "Resolutions, anyone?"

 

It was Wesley who spoke up first, his words slightly slurred as he answered, "I w-wanna find her."

 

"Who?" Michaela responded, her eyes wide as she assumed, "Rebecca? Wes, you know she's gone-"

 

Shaking his hands out-front of his body, Wesley interrupted, "No, no- just her, you know? Like… I don’t know, the one."

 

The group fell silent for a moment, and Oliver peeked to his right at Connor, stifling a small smile as their fingers intertwined at their sides; they didn't have to say a thing to know that they had already found the one, and knowing that felt better than anything else the new year might offer him.

  
To his partners surprise, Oliver patted Wesley on the back and found himself yelling a bit over the crowd as he responded, "Don't stress- it'll happen when it does. Might even be at a bar, when your least expecting it."

 

"I resolve to, uh, avoid being a possible target in any future murders," Michaela added subtly and with a shockingly casual attitude, catching the attention of everyone as it wasn't something she usually liked to discuss, "Oh- and pass mid-terms."

 

"Zero to one-hundred real quick," Connor teased, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, "Laurel?"

  
"You know what," Laurel had just as much to drink as the rest of the group, and her confidence boosted along with her intoxication, "I wanna…stand up a bit more. Speak my mind. Connor?"

 

The confession was on the tip of his tongue, aching to slip from his lips, but it wasn't time yet. Approximately fifteen minutes remained until the ball dropped, hands trembling and a heavy pounding beneath his ribs, and yet he took a deep breathe and brought himself back down, "Suppose I've never left the country-"

 

"Oh, boo!" Michaela complained with a pout, disregarding the oh-so common new years resolution; she wasn't wrong, as Connor had probably claimed that since he'd turned nineteen and still remained in the confines of America. Even if he never did leave the country, it'd be fine as long as Oliver was there beside him, and so he brushed off her comment as she continued, "Oliver- do you have one?"

 

Standing beside him, Oliver looked nervously down at their intertwined hands for a moment before deciding to confess something he hadn't even yet told Connor. It took him by surprise as his boyfriend looked up after a moment , a shy smile across his face as he straightened his glasses and peered over, "Don't get mad, okay? But, I've actually been looking online- I want to find us a place. A real place, not that tiny apartment. Pasko's getting bigger and our stuff can barely fit-"

 

"Seriously?" Connor turned, and for a moment Oliver was positive that he'd pissed him off, "I- I've been looking too. You should've just told me, I-"

 

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Asher groaned loudly, cutting off their moment as they locked into the others stare and wondered why they hadn't been searching together, "You two are so damn whipped, I might have to go throw up. Or, wait a second- nope, that's just the cherry bombs coming up from earlier."

 

As they turned to ask Asher what he could possibly resolve to change in the new year, Oliver took the opportunity to pull Connor aside with a swift tug away from the group. It took a moment before he was able to swallow down the lump in his throat, "You- you're not ready to run and hide? Or I don’t know, yell at me about shared mortgages and the effort it takes to mow an entire lawn?"

  
It wasn't his fault that Connor's reaction had seemed to come from left field, because no matter how captivated he remained with Oliver, his track record wasn't amazing and only one year ago, commitment was nothing but an idea he avoided and possibly feared. Everything had changed for him, but words didn't come easy and the challenge came with expressing that. Even now, he found himself voiceless and leaned in.

 

The temperate had dropped below zero, but as they kissed as if there weren't hundreds surrounding them, hands creeping under the others coats and trailing across skin, both felt nothing but warm inside and out. It wasn't until a stifled 'woo!' was shot in their direction that Connor pulled away, cheeks red despite the cold and fingers tingling with excitement and stage fright.

 

"How much longer?"

 

Oliver shot him an odd look, "Until what?"

 

"The ball drop," He insisted, nodding to Oliver's pocket and watching as his boyfriend reached hesitantly for his phone with eyebrows furrowed and a look of curiosity across his face.

 

"Like, less than five minutes," He mumbled in confusion, looking up from his screen, "Seriously- what's up with you? You really don't want to talk about moving into a house? It's just- everything's okay?"

 

"Listen," Connor pulled him closer so that he wouldn't have to shout, nearly shaking now as Oliver continued to stare at him as if he'd lost his mind; it might've been the wide smile that he couldn't manage to suppress, or the way that he was staring back at him with a look that said 'I'll love you forever.' A moment passed and he continued, "You're…damn it, Oliver, you've changed things for me, you saved me. That's it. You're it for me, you know? So, about the house- There's just not a doubt in my mind, really. I just… I want this, you, us- I'm never giving up."

 

There was a mist behind Oliver's eyes, and though he wasn't sure where all of this was coming from, his words didn't mean any less. He shook his head in slight disbelief at what they'd grown into, what they'd become, and squeezed his hand, "I…Me too, Connor."

 

"Hey! Lovebirds!" Asher called out loud enough that they both turned, pointing sarcastically up at the enormous ball in the sky, "Get the hell over here and count with us!"

 

They shared a small smile before finding their way back to where the crowd met fence, both flustered and ignoring the wondering looks in their direction. A few minutes passed as they watched the stage from a distance, and an announcer rang out over the speakers that they'd reached one minute, the music coming to a stop as everyone prepared themselves.

 

And then, the crowd began to count down from ten.

 

For two long seconds, Connor wrapped his hand around the tiny box in his pocket.

 

Another four passed, as Oliver chanted beside him, probably wondering why he wasn't counting down as well; his knees trembled.

 

Another single second went by, and the number three lit up on the giant animated screen, the ball so close to reaching it's end.

 

Connor kneeled down at two.

 

Ignoring the fact that he knew everyone was staring, his eyes didn't trail from his boyfriends wide eyes for a moment, his heart pounding as he reached into his jacket and lifted out the felt box.

 

'One' rang out over the speakers and the crowd erupted- everyone except the people that currently surrounded his proposal, who's hands were lifted to their mouths, stifling a gasp.

 

"Oliver Hampton," It was unlike anything that Oliver had ever imagined as bursts of every different coloured light shot over the neon dream of Times Square and confetti fell over the city's centre like rain; he couldn't hold back the overwhelmed tears that began to stream down his cheeks as Connor continued, repeating something he'd said long before, "You are _still_ the only part of my day that I look foreword too. Please- marry me?"

 

Not a second passed before Oliver nodded eagerly, unable to help the fact that he was tearing up in front of dozens of strangers and what might've been a camera crew filming from behind the fence. What he wasn't expecting was for the crowd around them to cheer with congratulations, Michaela squealing, as Connor slid the ring onto his finger.

 

The surrounding voices faded into the background for a moment as Oliver wrapped his arms around his fiancé, the way that Connor had been looking at him finally making sense as he now was sure that he could relate to the urge to stare back at him as if he were the world, wanting nothing but for this moment to last forever as he murmured stifled 'I love you's' into his chest.

 

Just as they pulled away from the other, the audience that Connor had managed to gain startled both men as they looked around with flushed skin and damp cheeks, taking aback by the clapping crowd before Michaela ran to Oliver's side with a bounce in her step that he swore was unseen, "Oh my god, show me the ring!"

 

A solid pat on the back caused him to laugh aloud, even Asher unable to poke fun and sporting a surprisingly genuine smile, "You smooth motherfucker, congrats. This calls for one hell of a bachelor party."

 

The next hour passed by in what seemed like an ecstatic blur, as they pushed the crowd and out into the streets, deciding to celebrate with one more shot at the bar. What both Connor and Oliver secretly wanted was to memorialize back in their king size hotel bed with a city view and a whole lot of much-needed privacy, but the night was young and they couldn't say no to friends so enthusiastic.

 

"To these two," Wesley raised his glass, nodding to the smiling couple, "One day, ten years from now, you'll be telling your kids about tonight- make it count boys."

 

Connor shared a subtle stare with Oliver at the idea of children, and because neither could deny it, they happily tapped their shot glasses together before tipping them upside down on the counter with a cheer and a thump. The bartender eyed them warily and they stifled a laugh, Michaela shushing them and Laurel calling the server over for another round.

 

"Babe, it taps on everything," Oliver had confessed in a bit of a slur later that night, after they'd spent far longer than intended at the crowded bar counter; they been stumbling drunkenly up the steps of their hotel, hands balancing on the rail, as he found that his engagement ring made a satisfying 'ding' whenever he grabbed a hold of something, "I like it."

 

Asher rolled his eyes, "Okay, this was fun, but I've gotta admit- you guys are grossing me out. When do we pile back into the mom-van tomorrow?"

 

"Whenever I recover," Wesley groaned, the last shot having hit him harder than expected as he had to re-aim for the elevator's up-button, "If I recover."

 

And damn, were they ever lucky that everyone happened to sleep in late the next morning.

 

They couldn't sleep, didn't want to once they'd stumbled into their room, so instead they explored every bit of the others body on every available surface in the hotel's penthouse suite; the counter tops and the fine hair trailing down Connor's stomach, the shower and Oliver's shoulders, back, hips, the floor, up against the window, sprawled across the mattress- it didn't matter, they couldn't keep their hands to themselves.

 

"Fiancé," Oliver rolled the word carelessly off his tongue between a kiss, smiling against Connor's lips as they buried themselves beneath the sheets, "I like that, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i do know that there isn't actually access to bars and what not in times square on new years, but lets play pretend for the sake of coliver!!


	6. Chapter 6

_The First Big Fight_

 

It was about five, sometime after they'd all piled into the familiar oversized chairs and buried their faces into files and non-admissible evidence, when Connor had felt the vibration against his leg, his phone buzzing alive. Caught in the middle of bantering about what they could use in court that wasn't illegal or irrelevant, he absently clicked the screen off and kept arguing- he'd call back later.

 

Later turned out to be nearly three hours after that, their night ending a long while after the sun had already set and disappeared into the cities horizon; they'd all begun to eagerly head for their coats and umbrellas, Annalise having escaped to somewhere that she'd never exactly stated. It became obvious that Oliver had only left a single text following his ignored phone call, simply stating 'I guess not.' With a unsure frown, Connor hung behind for a moment, eventually clicking on an unheard voicemail, lifting the phone to his ear to drown out the chatter close-by.

 

 _"Hey, you- I know the boss has been kind of drilling you guys with that case lately, but is there any chance in the world that you could get off early and drive home soon? I, uh, just heard some really good news,"_ Oliver fell silent for a moment and caught his breath, as if he were about to hang up and leave it at that, but evidently let slip a heavy sigh and continued, _"God, I was going to wait til you got home, but I'm just so freakin' excited, it doesn't even feel real.  So, you remember that interview I did the other week with Activision in California, the one over the webcams? You, uh, made fun of me cause I wore a suit and tie in our own living room, but it looks like someone liked my style; he just called me back. I'm still shaking, Con- I guess a position opened up, and he wants me to fly out and cover for the managing producer. For a year. But once you hear what he's offering me, I mean, it's worth talking about.  Anyways, you hear that? That's our new stove- I packed away most of the boxes, and bought you're favorite for dinner, so whenever you can sneak out- call me back. Love you."_

 

"Something's wrong," Michaela doesn't bother asking as she looks over at Connor, staring down at his phone with pale knuckles and tightened fingers, panic written all over her closest friend's expression that he isn't attempting to hide. As everyone wanders out the front door, she wanders back to him with concern that she can't stifle, "Is it Oliver? Oh, no. Don’t tell me- Is he okay?"

  
"Yeah, yeah," He shrugged off her obvious and immediate assumption, running an unsteady hand through his knotted hair as he leaned back into the out-dated sofa, "He's fine, he's good."

 

"Then, no offense, but why do you look like you just found out your dog got hit by a car?"

 

Connor shot a glare up from where he'd slouched into the cushions, "Don't joke about that."

 

"C'mon, seriously," Michaela quickly dropped her purse to the floor and slid down next to him, smiling a little as she let her head fall onto his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly at his shaking hand, "Tell me- what's going on?"

 

It was nearly impossible not to repeat the words currently rattling louder and louder around his skull, biting at his own lip to avoid an oncoming breakdown. Everything was so different no more than five minutes ago, before he'd instantly began to reimagine the entire upcoming year completely alone; shockingly enough, it wasn't something that he was dying to live out, and yet he wondered if he would even end up with a choice in the matter. Of course his fiancé would no doubt claim that Connor's opinion will determine whether he'd leave or stay, but both men would know deep down that an unbelievable opportunity will have been missed, and it wouldn't take long until Oliver hated him for keeping him back, love replaced with bitterness and regret.

 

No, a relationship wasn’t built on control, but damn if Connor didn't wish that they'd never called back. His voice came out much weaker than usual, "You, uh, wanna go for a drink?"

 

It was a relief that Michaela nodded and pulled him up from the cushions, sensing that there was still more to be confessed and discussed, but as they stood up and began to gather their things, a familiar face caught her off guard outside the door.

 

"Levi," She gasped and nearly lost her step, grabbing a hold of Connor's arm as they reached the last step, both their eyes on the model-like man leaning against a slick black car and sporting attire only fit for a night out. With a quiet sigh, Connor leaned down and whispered that their drink could be postponed- that wasn't a date he would pass up either.

 

With a friendly wave in their direction, he continued alone down the dark wet streets, having left the car back in the garage; for once, he was within walking distance to work. Right about now, he found himself regretting the earlier decision to be environmentally conscious. If he could've, Connor might've driven around the city half a dozen times trying to figure out what the hell he was going to tell Oliver- for now, well, he'd just have to drink.

 

The choices bounced around in his mind like a bad headache. If he were to tell Oliver that there wasn't a chance in hell he'd make it through an entire year without him, would it only serve to piss him off? What about going home and simply lying, pretending that it sounded like a great idea and he was happy to watch him go- that surely wasn't right, or was that what his fiancé was hoping to hear? There wouldn't have been a reason to call him unless Oliver was seriously considering it, and so Connor could only assume that his warning was simply rhetorical, and he'd be living in California without him no matter what he responded with.

 

It was a blessing that the local bar wasn't over crowded, and that the bartended was asking him what he was craving before his ass had even slipped onto the stool.

 

One shot was finished, and he began to wonder if calling Oliver back would be a good idea- his phone remained untouched as he tried to swallow the fear.

 

A beer was ordered, and he drank as if he were being served water, a damning thought creeping into his brain; he might  lose his fiancé over this.  It was a whole three hundred and sixty five days, an entire year- could Oliver really go that long without sex, or better yet, could Connor? The idea forced him to order another shot.

 

"Hey, dude with the bowtie," Connor called after he'd knocked the shot glass against the counter, his words nearly slurred as he waved over the man behind the counter. It'd been a while since he'd visited a bar completely alone, and was almost sure he looked both desperate and lonely, but it didn't stop him from talking to the bartender, "You ever done that whole long distance thing?"

 

The bartender reached for the empty glass and began to fill it once more, laugh lines breaking out across his surprised expression, "It's Adam, and why- you moving somewhere?"

 

"No, uh," Connor was about to explain that it wasn't him leaving Philadelphia, but the look in the bartenders suggestive stare made it more than obvious he'd simply been flirting. One side of his lip curling up, he grabbed the shot and revised his answer, "Well, actually yeah. So, would you do it? Or is it, you know, like they say- relationship suicide?"

 

Adam was silent a moment, seemingly deciding on his response as he peeked over the counter and shamelessly checked Connor out. With a wink, he lowered his voice and leaned over to whisper, "You know, I think it all depends on what you're waiting for when you get home."

 

It was then that Oliver had just pushed the bar doors open, only Connor hadn't seen nor heard him from where he sat at the bar, empty glasses like a fortress around him. From the back of the room, with his breath caught in his throat, he watched as the bartender mouthed something to his fiancé with an alluring smile- the way that Connor leaned foreword to hear better made his stomach flip.

 

For a minute, Oliver wondered what was worse- watching as the handsome stranger rounded the bar to press up closer to his fiancé, or actual torture. It was highly unprofessional, but the way that he grabbed the stool to his right caused him to realize that his shift had just ended, and that this was a whole lot like an impromptu date. A card from Connor's wallet was slipped into the strangers pocket, and his blood boiled beneath his skin.

 

Patience ran completely thin when the bartender's hand began to creep across the space in-between them and a look on his face spoke a silent 'I'm going to kiss you', and as if it were instinct, Connor's head lifted and he hesitantly scanned the room; as his stare landed on Oliver, he could almost hear the 'fuck' slipping out from his lips, watching as his fiancé turned away and pushed the doors open without even a look over his shoulder. Nothing could compare to the devastation in his fiancés eyes a second before he disappeared.

 

"Shit," Connor muttered, shaking as he grabbed for his wallet and dropped a twenty into Adam's hands, ignoring the baffled expression across his face, "Don't call me."

 

"Wait, I-" Adam attempted to give it back, presumably for a another drink together, but Connor was halfway across the floor, nearly pushing people from his path. There was an all too real risk that Oliver would be gone by the time he was outside.

 

With no sight of his fiancé, Connor squinted and peered out into the empty street, to his left, and down a dimly lit alleyway beside the bar. As he took a step down the shadowed path, tight grips caught his shoulders and pulled him into the dark, shoving him roughly into the brick. For a short moment, he was almost sure he was being robbed, drunk and unable to defend himself in any way possible.

 

"You fucking ass," Oliver's fingers remained unmoving as he grabbed a tight hold around the front of Connor's shirt, unbothered by the way that his eyes shut tight as he slammed back against the wall. There was no remorse in his expression as he left little room between him and Connor, moving closer until their lips were inches away; speaking through clenched teeth, ill-tempered and trembling with the threat of a sob, Oliver brushed off the shocked and broken look on Connor's face, "You- what the fuck is this? I know you heard my call, so why the hell didn't you come home? I made fucking steak, I don’t even like it, for you. I tell you something that could basically fuck this up for us, and you- you don't come home to talk about it, you go out looking for a piece of ass! I emptied every single stupid packing box today, peeled back all the tape and lifted shit and nailed your damn pictures to the wall, and then I waited- I waited for your dumb ass to come home and see it, and you came here. Look at you, you're fucking wasted."

 

For a moment, Connor was speechless and tongue tied, until fear and intoxication took over his rational thinking and instead of an apology, his voice rang louder than Oliver's and echoed the alleyway, "So what, Oliver! What the hell does it even matter? Oh, great, there's a fucking couch, and a bed, and a god damn TV- doesn't matter if it's empty, does it? You think a meal can make up for that?"

 

"Oh, that's fucking rich," Oliver muttered as he fought the need to go off, and still he kept the fabric of Connor's shirt clasped in his fist, "Coming from you, that's gotta be a joke, right? Mr. 'I'll be home at five' and then I don’t see you until the next god damn morning because I'm not an actual insomniac, and oh, you're gone by six am and I'm alone again. How about that? And you're going to tell me-"

 

"I'm not telling you anything!" Connor pushed against his fiancé now, sick of feeling like he was powerless but finding that Oliver was currently standing like a brick wall himself, "Fuck- you knew what you were signing up for, don’t act like it’s a fucking surprise."

 

Only a few seconds passed before Connor finally shook Oliver from his grip, pushing towards him as he backed hesitantly into the opposite wall, "Tell me something, Ollie- why the hell did you agree to put that damn ring around your finger, sign those stupid mortgage papers, if you were just going to leave. Why."

 

An unexpected crack in his voice caused his wide eyes to water, voicing his own realization aloud, and Oliver stifled the instinctive urge to wipe the dampness from his wind-stung cheeks. It was easy to resist when his blood was flowing through his veins like flames over an open fire, "You moron, don't you get it? This job you obviously don’t want me to consider, it'd pay off that mortgage we both knew was over the budget. It'd start a savings account. I'm not 'leaving' you, I'm trying to get our shit together. You ever heard of someone supporting a family 'cause they fix laptops? Yeah, right. I'm broke, and we need to stop pretending I've got some secret stash of money, because I don’t and you don't and our family can't form from true fucking love."

 

It's almost enough sound and reason to cause Connor to take a step back, but the 'money' word is just to hard to ignore and Oliver cringes as he raises his voice once more and lifts his hand into the air like it's all ridiculous, "That's what this is about? It's not about cheques or bills, or who's got the bigger salary-"

 

A dry laugh, too calm now, causes Connor's mouth to immediately fall shut, and Oliver's staring at him like he's just told an unimpressive joke, "Of course you'd say that. You're in pre-paid for school to be a lawyer, with all the experience you can handle and what will be job after job awaiting your well-known face the moment you take off the graduation cap. And I'll be- what? Cooking, cleaning, pulling batteries out of bullshit and sticking it back in? Thanks, Con- I never knew you thought I could accomplish so much."

 

"No, that's not what I meant," Connor's hand wraps around his fiancés wrist before he can turn away, and he can feel the tension between them to heavily now, wishing that it wasn't such a challenge to keep him in the shadows, "I'm fucking scared, Ollie."

 

"Not really an excuse to go hit on the first dude you see with a man bun and big arms," Oliver retorts numbly and without much emotion now, unable to meet Connor's stare and yet he knows it's there, bearing down on him and causing his body to rock as if there'd been an earthquake, "But, you know- thanks for letting me figure it out for myself."

 

"It was an accident," Connor's excuses sound like nonsense, even to his own ears, and so he struggles to find a better choice of words, "Not that, I freaked out. Felt like I was going to lose it, and so I ordered a few drinks. Dude was being smiley, and I couldn't stop thinking about a year without you, without…"

 

"Without sex?" Oliver guessed, and judging his correctness by the guilt in Connor's expression, he flashed a sarcastic smile, "Cute. Can't keep your dick tucked in- I get it. What's the point of marriage if you aren't getting it in every damn day?"

 

The ring on Oliver's finger was lit, reflected by the neon sign light from above, and Connor absently stared down at it a moment and tried to consider what the hell marriage even was, "Can you really blame me? I mean, would you last a whole year- be honest."

 

"I'm always fucking honest," Oliver muttered, and wasn't that the truth. For a moment, he seemed to contemplate the question, but a response came before Connor was prepared for his sudden bluntness, "You answer me something, Connor, do you even want to marry me?

 

The question causes his heart to squeeze and pound unsteady, and he doesn't have to think twice about the answer. Only, it sounds unnatural coming from his fiancé, who wore an engagement ring to promise just the same, "Why would you even say that?"

 

"To me," Oliver stared down at the ground as if he could burn holes in the cement with his glare alone, trying to keep his voice low as they paced the shadowed alley, "Marriage? Life long plan- did no one tell you that? So, when you tell me that a year is too long without getting your dick sucked, kind of makes me wonder how long you think this thing is for? Five, maybe ten years until we get divorced? Or are you one of those guys who gets really old, divorces, and marries a twenty-something-"

 

"Stop," Connor growls out, unable to hear it anymore as he wraps his fingers around Oliver's arms and aches for him to meet his stare, "Stop it. This isn't what I meant-"

 

"But you did!" Oliver chokes back a cry, gesturing to the bar where he'd just walked into something he'd rather not have ever envisioned, "You- you went out to get laid before I'd even left!"

 

"I just wanted a damn drink!" Connor argued with arms raised and once again bringing attention to the hidden path, unsurprised that a passerby lingered a second long and stared down the alley, "Sue me for needing to pretend like my fiancé wasn't leaving me for a year. Maybe- forever."

 

"Wait, hold on," Oliver pushed his foggy glasses up his nose an inch as his eyebrows furrowed with confusion, "What'd you just say?"

 

"It's California, Ollie," Connor shrugged and blinked away a threatening tear, unable to stifle his worst expectation any longer as he stepped back against the wall and swallowed the lump stuck sorely in his throat, "We both know people don't move out of Cali- once you get there, you'll never want to come back here. I'll be stuck in a house with three too many bedrooms, making money to put away for… for nothing, without you."

 

"No, I…I'll always come home to you, Connor," Oliver's voice softened and flooded Connor with relief, like hearing music after gunfire. The grip on his wrists loosened and he grabbed his hands instead, "There's no other way to put it- I'm not going anywhere. And when the time comes, I'll be your housewife, but right now I need some back-up, you know?"

 

There's still adrenaline coercing through his body, throat sore from shouting and knees nearly buckled a dozen times, and he can tell by the redness to Oliver's skin and the way he's staring intently at Connor's lips that he's just as high on passion and frenzy.

 

With the same force that Oliver had shown when he'd found Connor earlier, he shoved him against the brick and grinded foreword, their hips rutting together as lips met and eager hands traveled beneath fabric and zippers.

 

Caught between a moan and a grunt, Connor shivered with unexpected pleasure as his fiancé caught his bottom lip between his teeth. A moment later, with his hands trailing beneath the waist band of his jeans, despite the fact that they were being hidden only by shadows, Oliver pulled away to whisper almost inaudibly into his ear, "How the hell could I say no to coming home to this?"


	7. Chapter 7

_The Wedding_

 

It wasn't enough to see Oliver's wide smile on the computer screen, and yet that's all they had. The need to reach through his laptop and brush back his messy, overgrown hair was becoming unbearable, and still, he couldn't. Listening to his laugh over speakers was almost harder than not hearing it at all, but every night, he'd sign onto Skype and they'd talk, for minutes, for hours, until one of them fell asleep and the other hung on to every single soft snore until the call was eventually ended.

 

Four weeks remained, and though it felt like it'd been a century since they'd touched, hugged, kissed, time was running short and neither had ever been more delighted.

 

"I'll be home before you know it," Oliver assured him as Connor ran restless fingers through his hair and wished that he could fall asleep until the day came, "I'm sick of the heat, you know."

 

"Yeah, right," Connor mumbled, looking away from the screen for a moment to stare out the window; it'd been a long year, and orange and red leaves were falling once again outside the glass. The seasons had gone by with a blur, spring and summer both passing by in a work-induced haze as he'd channeled every bit of his frustration into his job and his education, acing his tests because what was once time spent with Oliver had turned into hours of studying and research. With a sigh, he turned back towards the laptop and forced a smile, "You'll be shivering the moment you step out of the airport, and then you'll remember why California has it's benefits. You'd think autumn would mean, like, some above-ten temperature, but we've kind of been screwed this year."

 

They met each others stare through the screen, sharing a small sense of comfort in knowing that it wouldn't be much longer until Skype was a distant memory- sometimes the internet would go out and cut their conversation short, forcing them to spend long-distance charges because the idea of silence drove them both insane. Again and again, they'd tell each other 'I miss you,' and 'I love you,' but a majority of the time, it just wasn't enough- they both ached to show the other just how much it hurt to be away.

 

"The only benefit is this job," Oliver admitted, as he'd been doing the same as Connor had, spending every waking moment with his head buried into his work- every so often he'd go out to the bar with a couple guys from the staff, but it wasn't the same, and he often found himself staring blankly at walls and wishing that Connor was there instead. The only reason he hadn't hopped on a plane and come home before schedule was because he knew it'd be worth it in the end, with a little extra money to do what they both wanted- start a family, pay off their debt, make a life for each other, "Hey- how'd that court hearing go?"

 

"Annalise killed it," Connor responded with what should've been obvious, as his boss was a superstar when it came to tearing down the opposition, "What about your presentation?"

 

"Couldn't stop thinking about you, ended up saying Connor instead of contrary," Oliver chuckled at the honest memory, laugh lines tugging at his skin, "Honestly, I can't stand this. I'd marry you the minute I get back, if I could."

 

They hadn't talked much about the wedding since he'd flown out, but Oliver wore his ring proudly each day and fantasized about when it would mean more than just a proposal, telling his staff about the fiancé that he was waiting for back home. It took a moment as Connor registered what he'd said before responding, "What about, like, family and friends and the whole plan? I always thought you'd be the type to throw a huge party, you know, somewhere tropical with an itinerary and a huge buffet and-."

 

"I don’t know," Oliver sighed, resting his tired head against his palm as he contemplated the idea, "At one point, I thought I'd like that, but now it doesn't even matter- I just want to call you my husband. I want to be Mr. Walsh-Hampton, like, now. God, why didn't we just do it before I left?" 

 

The hyphened last name caused Connor to laugh aloud, the hollow sound echoing the empty house, "Because you told me you wanted some big thing!"

 

"You should know better than to listen to me," Oliver teased as he leaned closer to the screen, starting to wonder if a movie-star wedding was really worth it when all that he wanted was to be more than simply fiancés.

 




 

The next four weeks happened to fly by, but only because Connor was doing more than just his usual. Instead of distracting himself with the law firm, he decided to plan something. Something that wasn't in his capabilities, something bigger than him, and he immediately went to the team for help.

 

"I need you guys," He'd blurted out, minutes after they'd all found themselves piled into the familiar leather chairs. Everyone had stared at him, shocked; he wasn't usually one to ask for much help, and after a moment, they simultaneously realized that he wasn't talking about work.

 

It was a wedding- and it was far from classic.

 

As they discussed the numerous possibilities, Michaela rolled her eyes dramatically at the initial plan, "I don't know if you four have ever been to an airport, but I can almost guarantee they won't like this idea."

 

"Who cares," Asher snapped back, just as excited as Connor was nervous, "Make it happen quick, alright? In and out before they even know what's happening."

 

"Or you could just ask," Laurel suggested as if it should've been obvious, and the other four groaned in response- no one was willing to phone up the international airport and propose what would've surely sounded bat shit crazy.

 

The first week was spent making phone calls- to parents, to siblings, to friends and family and finally to an officiant. Whoever would finally agree to do this had to be slightly reckless, and so it took a few tried before they'd convinced someone to join in on the arrangement. It wasn't surprising that both sets of families found his intentions slightly insane, and it took a while until they finally gave in and said yes. The only people who seemed completely on board were the Keating five, who'd been building this game plan from the ground up.

 

It was Connor's sister who had asked something that he hadn't actually thought about yet, so intently caught up in his own course of action that he'd dismissed somewhat of an important factor, "Do you have the rings?"

 

The following week, they went where Connor was sure that he'd never end up, into a store built for the purpose of selling wedding bands. Each ended up with an engraving, the date they'd first met inscribed into the inside of white gold, and only then did he realize that this was actually happening. It was so far from what he'd imagined, not at all something he'd ever pictured himself doing, and yet he walked out of the store feeling both confident and light-headed- he was going to marry Oliver Hampton in less than three weeks.

 

A blessing came in the form of Michaela, who'd previously cancelled her own wedding after she'd bought a Vera Wang bridal dress, rented a venue, sent out invitations, all before her marriage crumbled beneath her high expectations. It might've been because she already knew exactly what she was doing, or possibly out of the need to plan her own, but Connor wasn't challenged in the slightest when it came to the smaller details, because his closest friend covered that without a single complaint. Flowers, an archway, tables and chairs, decorations, music- she handled it all with a slightly jealous smile across her face. Sending letters out wasn't necessary, because it was a small audience and everyone knew their part, had it strategically memorized in order for this impromptu plan to run smoothly.

 

The only person who had absolutely no idea what was going on, was Oliver. This made the frequent calls much harder to handle, as Connor stammered his way through their usual conversations, biting his tongue to keep the whole concept under wraps. He didn't mention the wedding again, but he'd already heard what was prominent for this to work- his fiancé was ready to be married, even anxious for it, and that was more than enough.

 

Only seven days remained, and they were talking over Skype as the sun set, both jittery and restless, when Connor put the final action into place, "You should wear something nice, on the plane."

 

The assumption that his cover was blown shook Connor's confidence, and Oliver stared back with knitted eyebrows and evident curiosity, "What- why?"

 

"That way, when I pick you up, we can go out somewhere nice- I'll make a reservation," Connor tried to cover it up, his words shaky as they left his lips, but Oliver remained oblivious- thank god for his innocence. 

 

"I just wanna be home with you," Oliver admitted with a small smile, every part of his being itching and aching to feel Connor against his chest, wrapped in his arms, "But if it makes you happy, I'll do it."

 

With a matching grin, he mumbled a genuine, "I love you."

 




 

The big day came quicker than he'd anticipated, a Saturday welcoming the return of his fiancé, and Connor hadn't slept much the night before. A suit hung from the hook on his door, and he stared at it from where he laid in bed, a million and one thoughts racing through his mind, making it impossible to think straight. It wasn't even late enough to reasonably get up, but he did, brewing a pot of coffee and pacing the floors.

 

Oliver's first text came at around seven in the morning, as he packed his suitcase and said his goodbyes to the staff- 'Only ten hours until I see you- will you be there holding a sign that says my name?' His fingers twitched over the phone's keyboard, because he'd be holding much more than a piece of paper, but he responded with a  simple answer, 'if you think that’s romantic,' and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

 

Everyone started showing up after he'd already drowned himself in an entire pot, Michaela being the first. It was with her that she'd brought an entire U-Haul of supplies, most of it being sent into the large backyard that until now had little to no purpose.

 

"So, there's six tables, each has a bouquet, and then over there," Michaela was pointing through the bay window, both watching as moving-men began unloading boxes in the leaf-scattered grass, "A convenient dance floor, and I know you said no bands, so I brought over my dock. Also, there's like, twenty steaks in the fridge and Asher's not letting anyone else touch the grill, so-"

 

"Holy shit," Connor exhaled with a trembling breath, as he'd been going blue in the face throughout the entire explanation; it was all coming together, and there was no going back now. It was beautiful, what Michaela was describing, but suddenly a wave of uneasiness was rushing over him, "Is this enough? Mich- is he going to be mad that there isn't a band? What about a huge ceremony, what if he doesn’t like it? Do we have enough food- oh god, did I forget something important?"   
 

Coffee nearly spilled from his mug as Michaela grasped his shoulders tightly and without warning, making it practically impossible to stare anywhere else but back into her intense stare, "Look at me, Connor. This is perfect, okay? Trust me, I'm really good at this. Just breath- you're mom's gunna be here soon, so you've got to get yourself together. Oliver loves you, more than I think you realize, so just breath and let it happen. Everything's ready, and you need to be too."

 

The rest of their group showed up early as well, their unconditional support obvious in the way that they all patted him on the back, wrapped him in hugs, told him how proud they were- it wasn't usually how they interacted, but he supposed that a wedding caused people to act all sorts of touchy-feely.

 

Family followed soon after, all having brought gifts and food and more to add to the scene in the backyard that was quickly beginning to look like something out of a magazine- Michaela wasn't lying, she was really good at this. The only thing that the scene was lacking was an arch and a runway, and that was because they were already folded down in Connor's trunk.

 

A second text came in just as the officiant showed up, last but still on time.

 

"He's texting on the plane," Connor laughed nervously, his hands shaking as he scanned his phone screen, "It's landing in an hour."

 

Gemma grinned wide, leaning over his shoulder and peeking at the text, "Is it time?"

 

"It's time," Michaela confirmed, because Connor was speechless- this was it.

 

The airport was a fifteen minute drive from home, and they all piled into vans and cars, dressed to the nines and looking very unsuitable for an airport waiting room, but no one was overly worried about that. Minutes felt like hours, however, as Connor slid into the driver's seat and wrapped his palms around the wheel.

 

An uncharacteristic question came from Asher, as he watched Connor struggle to spin the key into the ignition, "You doing alright, bro?"

 

All he could picture was Oliver, his eyes, his smile, his hands- and that was enough motivation to finally press his foot down on the pedal, "Yeah, uh, I think I am."

 

As they pulled into the parking lot, everyone was restless with anticipation, and those who weren't involved eyed them with curiosity as they wandered through the front doors of the airport, surely wondering why they were all dressed as if heading to a wedding- oh, how surprised they would soon be.

 

It was only a few minutes later than Connor's phone rang, and his eye's widened as everyone fell silent, "Hello?"

 

"Hey you," Oliver sounded so calm, so unsuspecting, "Flight landed early, so I'm heading through customs now. You downstairs?"

 

"That's fantastic," Connor's voice threatened to crack, and he tried desperately to hide the way that he could barely breathe, knowing that he sounded high-strung and flustered, "Yeah, I'm just waiting for you. How long do you think it'll take?"

 

"Lines are short, so I should be there in like, ten minutes? Hey- everything okay?"

 

"Yep," Connor replied with a gulp, swallowing the lump in his throat as family and friends crowded around him, trying to eavesdrop in anticipation, "I'll see you soon, okay? I love you."

 

It was then that the staff behind customs began to give them suspicious looks, because beneath his sister's arm was a foldable arch and a roll of red-velvet, and the officiant, who'd been an incredible and patient sport throughout all of this, was standing about ten feet away from the escalator.

 

The crowded waiting room was eyeing the group with confusion and whispers could be heard throughout the entire area, but Connor wasn't focused on them. Instead, he fidgeted with his suit and watched with staggered breath as Michaela helped Gemma set up a large white arch ten feet away from where Oliver would soon be coming down the large set of escalators, rolling out a path from where it stopped to the arch.

 

A guard finally came up to them, minutes before they were expecting Oliver, "What's going on here?"

 

Surprising everyone, Oliver's father took the chance to explain while everyone looked at the other for advice on what the hell to do now.

 

"My son here is getting married," He gestured at Connor, and his cheeks rose with colour at the word 'son,' "We'll be quick, I can promise you that. It's just that- we're going to need a few minutes."

 

The guard, who seemed both emotionally driven and a little awestruck, looked around at everyone and nodded, "I'll let the other staff know." 

 

The officiant stood behind the arch, and the small group of family and friends formed a wall on either side of the long strip of velvet that lead up to it, all staring up the stairs in anticipation.

 

"You ready?" She asked with a smile, obviously having seen a nervous fiancé more than a few times before, and he nodded, readying himself below the arch, "You have vows?"

 

"Sort of," Connor admitted, fixing his tie restlessly although he'd probably only made it worse. It was when the entirety of their audience quieted, the chatter falling to a silence, that Connor looked up from his suit and saw Oliver.

 

It was bound to happen, his eyes quickly watering, as Oliver's eyes widened with surprise- his mom and dad were standing at the bottom of the escalator, Connor's parents, their friends, and it didn't take him more than a second or two to realize what was about to happen when he reached the bottom- an escalator had never moved so slow.

 

The classic wedding song began to play off someone's iPhone, causing a few laughs, but Connor wasn't paying attention to the music, or the surrounding silence- he was watching Oliver, their stare meeting as he lifted an unsteady hand to his lips.

 

As soon as he stepped off the moving stairs, his father quickly looped his arm through Oliver's and whispered something into his ear- no one could hear what he'd said, but it caused his fiancé to immediately tear up. Before they'd begun the walk towards Connor, his mom, already having begun crying as any mother would be expected to, wrapped a suit-jacket around his shoulders and kissed him firmly on the cheek.

 

"You're going to make a wonderful husband," His mother assured him with a shaky voice, holding back her tears for a moment, "And I can tell you with honesty and confidence that you've found the perfect partner. No other could've made this happen. Go- get married."

 

Walls made of the people he loved had surrounded Oliver and his father as they turned back towards the arch, tossing pedals as they took slow steps towards Connor- their eyes met, and though they hadn't said a word to each other, it was almost impossible not to read the 'I can't believe this,' behind his closed lips.

 

The officiant was the first to speak, as Oliver, overwhelmed and taken aback, was left under the arch as his father stepped aside, "To all present I say- We are gathered here, not to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already is. We do not create this marriage, because we cannot. We can and do, however, celebrate with Connor Walsh and Oliver Hampton, the marvelous and beautiful adventure that has already taken place in their lives, and the commitment they make today."

 

"Is this real?" Oliver stammered out, not a second after she'd finished, and everyone looking up at them laughed a little through teary eyes, "Connor, I don't know what to say."

 

"Figure it out in a minute," Connor teased, threading their hands together and meeting his eyes with compassion and love that could not be defined in words.

 

The officiant continued softly as Connor ran his thumb gently against Oliver's palm, comforting him as best that he could, "Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides- you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you two may ever part, because that is what love is. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two."

 

The words spoken had been given to the officiant by Michaela, and Connor looked away only for a second, to smile at her and catch her smiling back; what she'd chosen was perfect, fitting, and had been nothing short of applicable; they'd grown together, built their lives around the other, found trust and comfort in the other and now it was time that they'd bring themselves together as one.

 

As the officiant told Connor that he could now read his vows, he panicked for a moment- he hadn't planned much, written anything, but there was no doubt in his mind that the man standing across from him deserved nothing but truth said from the heart. First and foremost, however, he wanted to assure himself that Oliver was on board, "So do you wish to say anything before the sentence is imposed?"

 

A laugh erupted from Oliver's lips, and he nodded through a wide smile, playing along, "I have no further questions, your honor."

 

"Alright," Connor laughed along with the fellow lawyers that crowded around, all rolling their eyes and playfully groaning at the reference, "Okay, here it is. Ollie- with you, I learned that some things come slowly, although I could've dealt with getting you to this make-shit altar a little quicker. When we first met, all I knew was that you made me laugh, and that you had this dorky look going on that I thought was hot. But, uh, only time would show me your true colours- you're caring, generous, kind, and to be honest, you're my best friend."

 

Oliver squeezed his hand, and Connor blinked away a tear and cleared his throat, "You've gotta know, that when I tell you that I love you, it's not for me- it's not because I want to, or because I need you, but because I just love everything that you are- I love the way you wipe your glasses with your sleeves, only to smudge them just a little more. I love that you're trustworthy, and that you don't tell anyone when I run up the stairs on all fours- I guess everyone knows now. I love you, always, and I vow to keep doing that until one of us dies- sorry, was that morbid?"

 

"It's fine," Oliver grinned, and then turned to the officiant, "Is it my turn?"

 

As she nodded, he looked back at Connor and wiped the dampness from his reddened cheeks, still in awe and slightly stiff from sitting on the plane for so long. It had been so far from what he'd expected when he'd been waiting to see only Connor and instead found his family and friends, his head spinning with the abruptness of his own wedding; the suddenness of it all was both charming and alarming, and yet he couldn't decide on a single reason why it didn’t feel right, "Okay- um, so first I should probably admit that I didn’t write any vows."

 

"You didn’t? So irresponsible," Connor teased light heartedly, shaking his head in fake disappointment, "You think you can make something up, real quick?"

 

"I think so," He answered promptly, flashing Connor a wink, "So- Connor Walsh, I vow to spend every day with you, and if we can't do that, then at least we've figured out how to use Skype, right? And I promise to…eat your cooking, if you don't make me look at it first. I love you, and this year has been a challenge harder than I'm sure either of us expected, but I'm ready- I'm ready to build our future, a family, and be the best husband that I can be. I missed you so much, Conner, and I don’t think I could've imagined a better way to come home to you."

 

There was so much more to be said, both having a thousand promises that were left unsaid, but they'd have years to prove those vows were genuine. The officiant continued, "Do you, Connor, take Oliver, to be your husband, standing with him in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, in hardship and in ease, to cherish and love forever more?"

 

It was what he'd been waiting to say for longer than he even realized, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind when he answered without hesitation, "I do."

 

The officiant repeated it once more, and Oliver clutched Connor's hand in his own before repeating without a pause, "I do."

 

"Alright- you two know the drill," The officiant continued, as everyone watching began to cheer, "You may kiss the groom."

 




 

It was more than a relief when Oliver walked through the front doors of his home and found that not much had changed, everything the same as he remembered it to be except for the backyard, which had been transformed into something of a fairy-tail.

 

There was music playing, songs from the fifties that Connor only listened to when he was forced to, Elvis lyrics ringing out over the neighborhood. They'd found a place to sit and talk for a moment, away from their family and friends, watching as Asher manned the barbeque and danced alongside Bonnie, who they both swore had never looked so presentable. Even Annalise had showed up, introducing herself to both their parents, which was something Connor had prayed would never happen.

 

"How did you do all this?" Oliver asked, still in disbelief as they admired the matching bands with fingers threaded together.

 

It wasn't all that surprising when Connor gestured to Michaela, who'd seemingly bonded with his sister, and admitted, "We've got enthusiastic friends. And, you know, I didn't want to wait- I couldn't picture seeing your face and calling you anything but my husband- god, that sounds weird."

 

Oliver grinned, and they shared yet another kiss- it might've been a couple dozen times since they'd ran out from the airport, a sea of onlookers clapping as they did so, "You don't have to."

 

"First dance!"

 

They both turned to find Gemma waving them over, and Oliver stood up first, his palm outstretched, "Dance with me?"

 

"I don’t dance," Connor responded immediately, having done a lot today but that wasn't on his list, and yet Oliver remained prevalent, his hand unmoving, "Ollie, you know-"

 

"Hold on," He interrupted, dropping his hand and wandering over to where Gemma was playing as DJ and whispered something in her ear. A song they both knew well began to play moments later, as his husband crossed the lawn and once again, asked him to dance.

 

The lyrics fit better now than they ever had before, and Connor simply couldn't say no. They hadn't planned anything, but it didn't matter- back when they'd spent days on end cramped into a too-small apartment, they'd done this dance a hundred times. 'Home' by Edward Sharpe was their song, and everyone quieted as they walked hand in hand to the temporary dance floor- it didn't take long until they simply forgot about the audience and swung, spun, and rocked to the beat, whispering sweet nothings onto the others ears as they let loose and lost themselves to the music.

 

After the music switched, Oliver's mom cut in and took her son by the arm, wanting to share a dance with her son; a second later, Michaela was swinging along with the newly wed.

 

"Thank you," Connor spoke over the music, and she shook her head as if dismissing his gratitude.

 

"No, Connor," Michaela corrected him, smiling as if she knew something he didn't, "Thank you- you two really do set an example, and I…I know what love is supposed to look like, because of you and Oliver. So, you know, thank you."

 

After they'd all settled into seats and Asher began to plate what looked to be delicious steaks, Oliver leaned over to whisper into Connor's ear, "How about tomorrow, we do lobster- honeymoon style?"

 

"Right," Connor scoffed, chewing a piece of steak as he lowered his voice, "You really think I wouldn't plan a real honeymoon? I haven't seen you in a year, I need seventy-two uninterrupted hours with you, so don't unpack just yet."


	8. Chapter 8

_Parenthood_

 

To be a parent required more than patience; there was responsibility involved, compassion and fortitude; the mother and father that currently sat side by side held none of these traits. All they had to offer their newborn was wealth, and money couldn’t care for their child, couldn't rock it to sleep at night and hold it when it cried, couldn't whisper comforting words of gratitude and love- all that their cash could do was give it a place to cry, as they lost themselves to a high that made them forget all about parenthood and it's many obligations.

 

"They both make me sick," Annalise muttered, as she turned away from the wide-eyed addicts and back towards the surrounding group of soon-to-be lawyers. It was painfully evident that she wanted nothing to do with either of them, and none of them expected her to continue with, "They'll be in court tomorrow morning, eleven, and I expect you all to be there."

 

It was Laurel who immediately began to argue, nearly jogging to keep up to their teacher, "What do you mean, you're taking their case? But they're- they're horrible, Annalise, there's no way they could ever win this."

 

"You're right," Annalise agreed with a nod as she walked out of the precinct, straight faced and her tone somewhat suspicious, "There isn't."

 

The rest of the night was spent crowded inside the firm, and every bit of evidence they'd uncovered only worked against the parents at hand. The mother, Gina, had been accused by three neighbors of letting their child cry itself to sleep every night, the sobs louder and more desperate with each night that passed; Connor could tell that the allegations were beginning to wear on everyone, as they brought to light the undisputable fact that the parents had both used and sold cocaine, spending the first month of their newborns life blowing off steam as the baby tried desperately to find a sense of relief.

 




 

A short lived court case brought along a heated debate, as both parents were evidentially fighting through a series of withdrawals; neither actually seemed to care about the child, instead interrupting Annalise to shout out about their extravagant wealth and that money was the only thing that their newborn needed- Gina was quick to claim that their daughter was in safe hands, because no one else could give her the amount that they could; it didn't seem strange to her that she'd yet to decide on a name, stuck in an intoxicated haze that caused her to choose something new with each passing day. The father, however, didn't have much to say at all; instead, his stare darted around the courtroom as if there was no part of him that could concentration, sweat peeking through the fabric of his suit.

 

For a moment, Connor feared that the case would eventually be adjourned- for the first time in his entire career, he was praying that they would actually lose. They were being accused of child neglect and endangerment, and Annalise's strongest argument was that of the parents right to let a baby 'cry it out,'  as if their addiction had nothing to do with the inattention; because there was no solid evidence that they'd been dealing as well as using, however, it remained to be decided. In his opinion, anywhere else would serve the newborn better than in the same home as the parents on stand.

 

It wasn't Annalise, however, that ruined their chances of winning. What happened instead caused the entire jury to gasp, as the judge asked the simple question, "How do you plead?"

 

What should've been a simple answer took a sudden and unexpected turn, as the father seemingly couldn't deal with anymore, unable to  remain behind the stand for one moment longer, "Guilty, your Honor."

 

“Mr. Nelson, do you know that by pleading guilty you lose the right to a jury trial?”

 

This wasn't what Annalise had expected, far from it, and she turned with shock to the man she was defending; he didn't look over at her once, staring into nothingness as he solemnly continued, "Yes, your honor."

 

“Do you give up that right?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor.”

 

“Do you understand what giving up that right means?”

 

"Yes.”

 

The mother was sobbing now, hysterically and without restraint, but Connor wasn't exactly sure why; it didn't make a bit of sense to him why she'd want to keep a family together that was so clearly falling apart. There wasn't a single part of her that was fit to be a mother, but it didn't take long before it became clear why she was so upset- this would mean time behind bars, and that her cravings would be left unfed, unsatisfied.

 

While this would've been a reasonable time for Annalise to step in, to make her voice known, the father refused the claim that he'd been forced into the decision; it was clearly his own choice, as everyone stood stunned while he continued with his plea. There was no sympathy in Connor's heart as the judge came to a final decision, "Mr. Nelson, you and Gina Nelson are hereby sentenced to two years in jail- a termination of your parental rights will follow, and child protective services will attain custody of your daughter."

 

The audience erupted into frenzied chatter as the newly convicted father let his head fall tiredly into his palms, ignoring his wife as she collapsed onto the floor with a loud cry. With nothing left for the lawyers to do, Annalise began to stuff papers back into her briefcase, the expression across her face a cross between disappointed and expectant. It was as Connor peered around at the chaos that he'd made a silent decision, and ran from the courtroom, his fingers wrapped around his phone.

 

Not a moment after the large doors shut behind him, he'd dialed Oliver's number and pressed the phone close to his ear. It never took his husband long to answer his call, "Hello?"

 

"Oliver," Connor's heart was racing, hands trembling, and yet he'd never felt so confident about something, "Remember when we talked about adopting?"

 

The sudden topic caused Oliver to stammer for a few seconds long, "What are you- I mean, yeah, I do remember- you said five or ten years, and I said we'd be old by then, and then you-"

 

"Forget what I said. Just- what if it was sooner, rather than later?"

 

The question caused his husband to fall silent, the sound of a laptop closing with a quiet slam before he'd formed a response, "Are you…what's going on, Connor? Is this serious?"  
 

From the corner of his eye, Connor could see that his team was beginning to pour through the doors, "Would you start a family with me, even if it were to happen tomorrow?"

 

"Of course, but-"

 

"I gotta go," Connor cut their conversation short, and as he shoved the phone down into his jacket pocket, a vibration quickly followed; Oliver was calling him back now, surely wanting clearer answers, but he didn't have the time. There wasn't a chance to corner Annalise alone, and so he sucked back his pride and spoke out in front of the students he'd grown to know as his closest friends, "Annalise, the newborn- why'd the judge say she'd be going straight into child protection? Don't they have family, a god parent, anything?"

 

"They don't," She assured him as they powered through the busy halls, although he'd guessed as much; the only contacts they'd been able to talk to before the court hearing had been their long list of clients, all much too strung out to ever be appointed guardianship, "But, in my gracious opinion, anywhere far away from those two will be more than whatever attention she was going to find at home."

 

"What if I filed for adoption?"

 

The request caused Annalise to stop dead in her tracks, pulling Connor aside as she dropped her voice and pursed her tight lips, "Is this your idea of a joke?"

 

"Wasn't joking," Connor lowered his self-assured tone, attempting to keep their conversation as private as possible in a crowded courthouse, "Listen, I've got an entire house, happily married, and here's the kicker- I'm not heavily addicted to coke. Don’t you think you could pull a few strings, call your people, and figure out how to keep that poor kid out of the system? I know that with me and Oliver, I'd need an attorney, but I have you, don't I?"

 

What seemed like forever passed as Annalise stood silently and contemplated the idea; there was no denying that he was bound and determined, and she stared over at him with narrowed eyes and a million unspoken thoughts. The idea of being a parent had so often crossed her mind that even her and Sam were trying to start a family before his timely demise, and Connor assumed that this case had made her stomach twist with the concept of such horrible parenting, wondering if Sam would've been just as careless.

 

"I'm not saying yes," Annalise began cautiously , her sentence unfinished as she paused to notice how Connor's expression fell, "But- I'll try."

 

-

 

It was exactly thirty days later; the parents were sent to a place where no one cared about their wealth status and the newborn had spent another three weeks in the hospital where she was fed properly, held each and every day, and yet something was still wrong. As Connor found her in a crib-like hospital bed, fast asleep, he couldn’t help but notice that her features were starting to form; only two months old and a thin layer of dark hair had grown in, her tiny hands grasping at nothing as she dreamt.

 

The nurse came in a few moments later, the same one he'd been meeting with for the past week, sporting a frown across her face that was starting to become too familiar. Connor's suspicion was already confirmed; she'd yet to stop crying with every waking moment.

 

"You can take her home today," The nurse tried to force a smile, nodding to where they'd put together a small bag of bottles, diapers, and baby blankets, "If you're ready."

 

"I'm ready, I'm just…" He trailed off as the nurse took a step closer, staring down thoughtfully into the crib, "Is she ever going to be okay?"

 

Before the nurse could answer, there was a crash in the next room over that spooked the newborn, and before her eyes had even opened, she began to whimper- it wasn’t bothersome, sounding more like a soft mew, but the noise was beginning to spark a sense of frustration, wanting nothing more than for her to wake up with a sense of comfort.

 

"I can assure you that she's perfectly healthy," The nurse told him for what could've been the hundredth time, compelled to speak louder than the newborn's sobs, "Are you sure you're ready, Mr. Walsh? We’ve filed the paperwork, you've signed the forms- this is it."

 

There was a lot he wasn't ready for, but for the past month Connor and Oliver had spent hours on end contemplating the ways in which they'd do anything for the little girl now crying out for help, her tiny arms reaching for support; taking her home was the only thing that he was ready for, and whatever came after would be a challenge that he would inevitably make every effort to resolve.

 

Having held her before, it seemed odd that for some reason, this time felt different. Lifting her up from the crib, it suddenly clicked that he wouldn't be setting her down minutes later, handing her to a nurse or a doctor or leaving her here as he headed back to the firm. This time, as Oliver waited out front with a baby carrier in the back seat, Connor found himself grateful that she'd finally have a place to call home.

 

The nurse tucked the bag beneath his free arm, both growing so used to the constant cries that neither acted bothered as they shared one last smile; unsure as it was, Connor's heart swelled as he finally took a step out of the hospital room door with the newborn tucked safely against his chest.

 

"She's crying," Oliver commented with obvious panic as Connor met him on the other side of the hospital doors, frowning down at her as he took the hospital care package from his husbands hold, "Why is she crying?"

 

They tossed the bag into the car as Oliver helped him to set her gently into the padding of the carrier, both looking back cautiously over their shoulders as they slid into the front seats, "It's normal, she's probably just hungry, or her diaper's full. It's fine, she's fine."

 

Neither dared turned on the radio as they drove home, following the rules of the road more closely than usual, and instead listened with concern to the blubbering in the back seat. Unbuckling the passenger side seat, Oliver finally surrendered his patience and climbed into the back seat.

 

It was the increasing stress that caused Connor to sound  strained as he attempted to focus on the road, "Wait, what're you doing?"

 

Looking up into the rear view mirror, he watched as Oliver lightly ran his fingers over her forehead, fixing what little hair she had as he murmured something that he couldn't yet hear over the crying. Relief finally came in the form of silence, as she stopped sobbing only to stare up at the man beside her, her bright blue eyes widening as she did so. He never did stop talking, not for one moment as they drove home, and Connor didn't dare interrupt. There was nothing logical about what he was saying, nonsense at it's best, but it seemed that simply his voice caused her to calm.

 

As they pulled into the driveway, Connor's heart was racing and his head was spinning; why hadn't he been able to do that? It'd caught him off guard how admirable it was, but a slight sense of envy overcame his emotion, "What- how are you doing that?"

 

Oliver spoke in a modest baby-voice, never taking his eyes off the newborn as he began to unbuckle her from the carrier, "My mom used to say that the only thing I needed, when I was this age, was The Great Gatsby. I just figured, you know, she probably just likes to listen."

 

"Oh," Connor's response came out in more of an exhale, "So, that's why you were a child genius?"

 

A glare was shot back at him, the same one that he'd use when Connor teased him relentlessly about how quickly he could solve math problems no matter the time or place, and he spun the key from the dial as Oliver scooped her gently into his arms. The sight caused his immediate breathlessness; it might've been the way that he was looking down at her with a distinct and unseen glow, or the way his arms formed so naturally around the newborn's shape, but his chest leapt at the view. Not in a million years had he ever imagined his family growing so soon, still believing that the whole situation felt unreal, something like a dream, and yet here they were.

 

The babbling that spilled from Oliver's lips was both captivating and sincere, and Connor fumbled for the house keys , hiding his tear-filled eyes as he listened, "What's your name, hm? Are you a Charlotte, or more of a Jane? No- we don't like that one, do we? Okay, what about a variation- Charlie? Or something classier, oh I know- Gabriella."

 

A responding  gurgle caused them both to grin, and Connor pushed open the door and immediately found that their house was quickly looking more like a home- not that there was much of a difference, but they'd never done much more than cook, clean, and spend hours on end beneath the sheets. Now it would hold more; memories of first steps, birthday parties, pictures on the walls and toys scattered across the hardwood floors. Cartoons would soon replace the cop shows, bottles of formula instead of beers- none of that seemed like a problem as he watched Oliver smile down at their newly adopted daughter, acting as if he'd never been met with anyone more beautiful.

 

The words poured out as soon as they'd stepped inside, the front door closing quietly behind Oliver as Connor spun on his heel and met his husband's wide-eyed stare, "I, uh, I love you. This all feels insane, but, I don’t know- I'd take on the world with you, Oliver."

 

"In that case," He smiled as if there was only one person more beautiful than the new born beneath his arms, stepping closer and intertwining his free hand through Connor's shaking fingers, "We can definitely handle her- a name would've been nice, though."

 

A cry caught them both by surprise, and Connor sighed as she once again began to wail for attention; it didn't bug him, but the giggling was a nice change. It was Oliver who made the first move, wandering over to the sofa and setting her down on a cushion, "Did you get anything for her to drink from the doctors, or were we supposed to do that already?"

 

"Oh," Connor realized he'd left the bag behind, and ran out to the car; it was packed full, and he soon emptied the contents onto the living room floor, staring down at it all as if it were foreign. A baby blanket covered in cartoon animals felt soft beneath his fingers, and he tossed it up at Oliver, who slipped it beneath her squirming body. The bottles varied in size, and he filled the smallest one with the specialized milk.

 

For a painfully long minute, she seemed to want nothing to do with the formula, crying harder each time they tried to coerce her to drink from the bottle. When the situation was seemingly hopeless, Connor let the bottle fall onto the cushion and stood up with a frustrated sigh, "I don't know what I'm doing, Ollie- I should've read more of those damn books, I could've taken a class or-"

 

"Hey," Oliver interrupted him with a tone so stern that it always managed to catch his attention, using it so rarely that it brought a jump to his chest, "I don't either, so can we at least figure it out together?"

 

There was something about the way that Oliver managed to find a voice of reason, even when he wasn't sure what the reasoning was; they sat facing each other on the sofa, lying on their sides as they shared silly stories that they'd once told the other, humming to songs that had once played at their wedding- it wasn't manly to admit that both their hearts had swelled with the sentiment, tears welling as their fingers laced together below her tiny feet. When she finally quieted once more, it was because they were mumbling to the other about how excited they were, the reality setting in that they'd both be off work for the next six months.

 

"Don't want her to choke," Connor pulled her smoothly up into his lap, letting her head fall against his chest as Oliver lifted and held the bottle for her. The moment, quiet and peaceful, was enough to stifle any panic they'd had- it was irrational to immediately assume that she'd never drink from a bottle again, but that's where there minds had went, worried to the greatest extent because all they really wanted was for her to finally find some sense of happiness.

 

A few minutes passed before her eyelids fell tiredly and she toppled to the side, Connor suppressing a laugh as he repositioned her on her back. The sofa cushion barely dented under her weight, and they slid to the side, building a wall with pillows before sneaking off to the kitchen. Coffee dripped slowly from the machine, and Oliver leaned against the counter with a content sigh, "What about Malaya?"

 

It was rarely that Connor could hear an accent behind his husband's voice, and his eyes narrowed with curiosity as he reached into the cupboards for their mugs, "It's cute, but why?"

 

"It was my lolas name, she always told us that it meant she was free. As a bird, she'd say- but I just though, you know, she's free from the shit that her parents were putting her through, free from what could've been a pretty scary life, and I just-"

 

"It's perfect," Connor interrupted with a playful grin, noticing now that Oliver was rambling as he often did whenever his nerves betrayed his mouth, "I love it, and I want you to know- even when I go back to work, and you're still here, I know you're going to be a great dad. You are, and I just think you should remember that."

 

They both looked into the living room, cautiously and caring, and Oliver nodded thoughtfully, "I'll try- for her, for you, I'd do anything."

 

There wasn't a single doubt in Connor's mind that he was as honest as ever; he watched as Oliver peered over at Malaya like she'd brought more meaning into his life than he'd ever found before, flashing his husband the same look not a second later, and it was nearly impossible not to see his love. It was the kind of love that emanated with everything that he did, said or didn't say, even in the smiles that he couldn't hold back; he radiated with devotion and loyalty, something that he'd shown throughout their marriage and had never stopped, each day proving that he loved him more than the last.


	9. Chapter 9

_First Accident_

 

It was sometime after the nine month mark that Malaya began to throw anything and everything she could wrap her little fingers around, and the problem only escalated when she learned that crawling wasn't necessary anymore. Toys, cups, Oliver's glasses, the TV remote, her dinner- it all ended up airborne. What started out as adorable and humorous had soon transitioned into a frustrating game, as Connor knew now that everything she picked up would soon belong to the floor.

 

"Malaya!" Connor groaned, watching as the toddler giggled hysterically at his reaction, the plastic plate flying onto the floor along with all it's contents. Her high-chair was now a danger-zone, and anything that was left unwatched wouldn't remain on it's tray for very long. Having only looked away for a split second, cut-up spaghetti was now littered across the floor.

 

As if to rub it in, Malaya slowly lifted her fork up, met his tired stare, and subsequently chucked it across the kitchen- the worst part was that no matter how antagonizing it was becoming, Connor couldn't exactly lecture at a one-year old. Looking around for help, he realized that Oliver still wasn't home; he'd gone out to pick up Chinese over an hour ago, and he could only assume that something had caught his eye on the way home.

 

"Alright, not hungry," He grumbled as he reached his arms out and Malaya held her hands high, excited to get back on her newly grounded feet and force Connor to follow her throughout the entire house as she did laps upon laps, circling every bit of furniture they had. With a small, toothy smile, she laughed at his discomfort and began to waddle as soon as her slippers hit the carpet.

 

This was routine now, as Connor watched from the sofa and Malaya steadied herself on whatever she could find, exploring the house as if it were completely new with each passing day. At first, she'd trip and fall with every third step, and he'd run to her side and make sure nothing was bumped. After two months of walking, it barely phased her for a moment, pushing herself right back up like the tough cookie she'd grown into.

 

Checking his cellphone, his last text was sent out to Oliver over a half-hour ago- 'You close? Tired, hungry, gotta read over this case.' It was still sitting, undone in his briefcase, but there was no chance of taking out his work when Malaya was in a mood so playful, presuming that if he did, there wouldn't be much focus involved. Instead, he sat impatiently on  the couch, dangling shiny toys in front of their toddler in an attempt to keep her amused.

 

"Laya- can you say Dada?" He asked for the fortieth time, and she simply stared up at him with those bright blue eyes, pleased to listen to the sound of his voice but doing nothing to repeat the words he'd said. Instead of anything close to dada, she giggled and reached her arms foreword, waiting for him to pick her up and scoop her into his lap. Making sure that the remote didn't leave his side of the sofa, Connor switched the channel to cartoons and prayed that they'd have a minute to rest, even if he was forced to watch unicorns blab on about god knows what.

 

The phone finally rang about halfway through the episode, except that it wasn't his cellphone- instead, the home phone that they'd used only a couple times since the move began to fill the house with noise, and Connor's eyebrows rose with curiosity. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, thinking that it was probably a telemarketer that they hadn't yet told off- when the ringing didn’t quit, however, he lifted Malaya to his hip and dragged his feet across the room.

 

"Hello?"

 

The voice on the other end sounded slightly more serious than the people who tried to sell him unnecessary phone plans, "Is this Connor Hampton-Walsh?"

 

"Uh," Connor stared down at his wedding band instinctively, smiling just a tad at the name as Malaya tried to grab at the phone pressed against his ear, "It is."

 

The woman began as if preparing him for something he wasn't going to like, "Okay, Connor- there's been an accident involving your partner, Oliver Hampton-Walsh; you were the only person listed under emergency contacts. Is there any way you could come down to the hospital, we just need to ask you-"

 

It felt as though his heart had stopped, a sudden ringing in his ears that made it nearly impossible to hear anything else she was saying. For a moment, even Malaya noticed the way his face grew pale, leaning against the kitchen counter to study his wavering knees, "Accident? Did you say accident?"

 

"A car collision, sir," The woman said calmly, as she'd probably already explained but his head was spinning now, and there was a lump in his throat making it harder and harder to breath, "Is there anyone who could accompany you to the hospital?"

 

"I'm on my way," He stammered, trying to place the phone back on its base but instead watching in a daze as it hit the tiled floor; the noise seemed distant, far away. It would've made logical sense to find a babysitter, but in Connor's mind, there wasn't enough time to do any of that- lost in a hazy and panicked state, Connor grabbed a bag with shaking hands, stuffed it full with bottles, toys, snacks, and diapers, and forget completely about Malaya's shoes. It wasn't until he'd pulled out of the driveway that he'd realized all she was wearing were two tiny polka-dot socks, but she would've fought with them all night anyways.

 

The distance between their home and the hospital was about ten minutes, but it felt more like an entire week; each stop light felt like a death sentence, each bad driver causing him to yell out in frustration. If anything had happened to Oliver that couldn't be reversed, it would've been his fault- he'd forced him to go out for dinner, to go out alone while he stayed home. They could've all gone together, they could've stayed home and made something to eat instead.

 

Guilt was mixed with anger- why wasn't he driving right? Had he forgot to put on his blinker again, or reached down to change the song on the radio, or maybe he'd been texting Connor back. That assumption sent his heart into his stomach, and suddenly he was sure he was going to be sick. They were only a few minutes away, they were almost there.

 

As soon as he'd pulled up out-front, a sign caught his attention; it was to alert drivers that they'd need to pay for the stay. There might've been coins in the dashboard, but he'd already grabbed Malaya from the backseat, already swung the bag over his shoulder- it wasn't worth it, and even if he'd had the common sense to do so, his feet didn't seem prepared to turn back.

 

"I'm here for Oliver Hampton?" Connor was out of breath by the time he'd reached the front desk, his face surely pale and Malaya on the verge of crying as she clung to his shirt, scared and overwhelmed by the sudden turn of mood. The nurse eyed them both curiously for a second before typing something into the computer, taking much longer than he was okay with, "Please- I need to know what happened."

 

"The doctor will talk to you," She assured him with more patience than he felt he had, evidently having dealt with people in the same hysterics, "Room fourteen, just down the hall."

 

It was clear that running around the hospital was frowned upon, and so Connor sped his walk to a light jog, brushing past nurses that seemed used to the behavior. The rooms were numbered above the doors, and he counted down beneath his shallow breath until thirteen became fourteen, and didn't bother knocking before pushing open the door.

 

"Ollie," Connor gasped at the sight, running to the side of the cot; his husband was clearly unconscious, tubes coming from his arm as a machine behind him repeated a seemingly normal beat. What had caught him off-guard was the bandages covering the skin beneath his cheeks, covering what he could only assume would be a line of stitches, and a sling over his shoulder and around his arm. Another bandage was peeking out from beneath his shirt, reaching up his chest, and he was just about to peel back the hospital gown when a doctor walked in.

 

"Mr. Hampton-Walsh?" The doctor asked as soon as he'd stepped in through the open door, much calmer than the man who's hand he was about to shake, "It's good that you're here, I'm Doctor Preston."

 

"I don’t understand," Connor could barely reach the doctors outstretched hand with his own, flustered and struggling to form words through the lump caught in his throat, "What- what the hell happened? Is he okay-"

 

"Oliver is just fine," The doctor assured him with a nod, reading his file once over, "Seven stitches across his jaw, four along his chest, and a displaced shoulder- the concussion shouldn't be much of a problem. The X-rays should be developed in the next hour or so, but I'm almost sure that he won't need any type of emergency surgery- just some rest, the anesthesia's knocked him out more so than the collision."

 

"Collision," Connor repeated the doctor's words unsurely, still staring down at Oliver's bandages with bated breath and thoughts swirling through his panicked mind, "But he's not a bad driver, he doesn't speed, doesn't run red lights. How the hell did this happen?"

 

"A paramedic told me he'd been driven off the road," The doctor told him as he fiddled with a machine that Connor wasn't quite sure about. The only comfort in the beeping was that it was even and steady, and surely that meant Oliver was doing okay, "Possibly an intoxicated driver, but the police at the scene will know more than I do- they'll be in to speak with you about insurance and the likes in just a few minutes, but I'm sure you'll want a moment to decompress."

 

Before he could respond to the doctor, Malaya had nearly tossed herself from his arms, babbling incoherently as she tried to reach for Oliver; with unsteady hands, Connor was just barely able to keep her from falling when she cried out a weary-sounding, "Dada!"

 

When Oliver didn't stir, awaken, or move, she reached her tiny hands foreword and tried again, "Da! Da!"

 

The doctor chuckled lightly, obviously unaware that she'd never before said an actual word before now, "I'll give you two a minute- the anesthesia should wear off soon enough."

 

As soon as he'd left the room, Connor found himself with damp eyes and a lighter heart; the cry for her father's attention was so needing, so real, that he couldn't help but set Malaya down on the cot, just enough so that she could wrap her palms around his legs. It was both breathtaking and hard to watch as she shook his ankles like she would in the mornings, when she'd wake up first and crawl her way over those crib bars and into their bedroom.

 

"He's sleeping baby," Connor mumbled, using his sleeve to wipe a few stray tears from his skin; it'd been years since he'd let himself cry, clearing his throat to force himself out of the emotional stupor he'd been caught in. It was only a few hours ago that they were planning a night of Chinese and movies, arguing about what type of noodles to buy and who would be the one stuck with picking them up. Right about now, he'd wished Oliver had won the fight.

 

A paramedic from the scene of the accident and the police officer who had arrested the other driver came in not long after, explaining the situation; an intoxicated teen had been driving towards Oliver, and claimed not to have been paying attention when he swerved into the opposite lane. With no where to turn, he'd swung the steering wheel towards the ditch and rolled the car- a picture or two showed to him made it clear it belonged at the impound lot.

 

"He's a lucky man," The officer had said, referring to the way the car had landed in just the right way, another flip or un unlatched belt and Oliver could've been much worse off. It was hard to consider the idea that things could've happened differently, and found himself shaking the thoughts from his head; picturing a future without his husband, raising their daughter without the man she'd decided to name 'dada,' unable to tell him one last time that their love was more real to him than anything else in his entire life- it wasn't a life that he ever wanted to live.

 

Hours after they'd arrived as Malaya slept in the plush hospital chair and Connor sat with his  forehead rested against the side of the cot, a soft voice brought him from a daze, "Con-Conner?"

 

The relief that spread through his entire body was immeasurable, lifting his head with eye's wide and wrapping his hands around Oliver's, "Hey, you. Promise me something, alright?"

 

"W-what?"

 

"Never stop wearing your seatbelt," Connor squeezed his hand tightly, and Oliver's eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the bright room with squinted eyes. The responding answer came out in a groan, his stare eventually falling on Malaya who was fast asleep- it wasn’t a sight they saw all that often. Noticing that he was more confused than anything, he continued, "Car accident, but you're a trooper. Just a scratch or two."

 

The clock on the wall read four in the morning, and Oliver stared up at it for a moment before remembering that he'd gone out for dinner around six. After he'd spun the keys in the car, the rest of the night still seemed like a blur, like he'd slid into the drivers seat and found himself in a hospital bed. There was dark bags beneath Connor's eyes now, a redness to his cheeks that sent forth a pang of guilt, "You- you've been here all night?"

 

"Wouldn't leave if they forced me to," Connor responded in the most genuine of voices, the one he'd used when he reminded Oliver that he loved him. A moment passed as he tried desperately to remember a car crash, but nothing came to mind, "You, uh, rolled the Chevy into a ditch. Don't make that face, though- it wasn't like you had much of a choice."

 

"And Malaya-"

 

"She's fine," Connor interrupted, looking back at her with a small smile, "She actually called you dada."

 

"Are you serious?" Oliver whined, the pain behind his skull no where near as distressing as learning that he'd been completely unconscious when they're daughter had spoken her first words, "My timing is shit."

 

"No, no," Connor laughed and brushed his complaints off, shaking his head while Oliver flashed his bitter pout, "It was actually kind of sweet- I think she was worried, if one-year olds can be worried about anything other than their next meal and where we put her toys."

 

"Where's her shoes?"

 

Hiding his face in the blankets for a second, Connor knew that question would plague him eventually, "I forgot. You, uh, you gave me one a hell of a scare, Ollie. Don’t think I've ever been that scared, actually."

 

A moment passed as Oliver recognized the honesty in his voice, the way that Connor was staring down at their intertwined fingers as if it were hard to admit something so earnest. Scared was something that he never claimed to be, refused to confess even when he was and replaced his fears with confidence. Something about the solemn look caught behind his tired eyes made it clear he wasn't that courageous when he'd forgotten their daughters shoes on the way to the hospital.

 

Minutes passed before Oliver finally recalled why he'd gone out in the first place, "Oh, the Chinese-"

 

"Tomorrow, we're just calling for delivery."


	10. Chapter 10

_Feeling Old_

 

It was something you don't notice as it's happening, but it hits you like a brick wall when you do. 

 

Getting older was funny that way, in that with each birthday, you'd continually think, 'well, it could be worse.' Thirty seemed like a big number, but not compared to thirty five, which didn't sound as scary as forty did, and then that milestone came and you wondered if fifty was the big one.

 

Two big candles sat atop a cake- the first said four, the other said one. Knowing that it was the effort that counted, it wasn't exactly decorated to any professional standard, but Oliver and Malaya had put the work in. The flames danced in the dimly lit room, the glow reflecting in Connor's eyes as he stared down at the birthday dessert like it'd personally offended him.

 

A frown tugged at Malaya's freckled cheeks, "The wax is gonna drip!"

 

It was as if something eventually switched on, like Connor had remembered he was supposed to act happy about this- why wasn't he happy about this? Pensive thought was something he didn't do all that often, calm and collected his signature mood.

 

"Okay, okay," Connor blew dramatically after a moment, sending the flame waving once before the entire room fell dark, and Oliver switched the light back on. Still, he glared down at the unlit candles as clapping filled the kitchen; Malaya reached over to tug them out of the icing, and again, he'd shaken himself from a stupor.

 

With a curious look, Oliver reached into a drawer and pulled from it a knife longer than the width of the cake, leaning across the table and holding it out in front of his husband with a generous grin, "Would you like to do the honor?"

 

"Uh," Connor had tried to respond, and yet it sounded as though he was pushing something from his throat. There was tension behind his tired smile, an anxiety in the way he took the handle from his husbands outstretched hand, "Sure. Thanks guys, it looks great."

 

The blade had just barely split the dessert into two pieces when Connor stopped, and Oliver had followed his hand- he was shaking, trembling, and there was something behind his stare that was nearly breaking his heart. For a few seconds, they both waited for him to start again, Malaya impatient to have her share of sweets, and Oliver wondering if he was just having a moment; often times he reflected on how lucky he'd gotten, admiring his family and the life they'd built.

 

It didn't feel like Connor was having that kind of moment. Instead of continuing, he set down the utensil and flashed an unsettled smile down at his daughter, "Why don’t you finish up? Ollie, you can teach her, right?"

 

"Er," Oliver panicked to grab the knife before their daughter could start the process herself, and looked back to Connor, who'd began to push himself from his kitchen chair and hurry towards the bathroom. Shaking his head with a twinge of disbelief, he muttered a response to a figure disappearing down the hall, "Alright."

 

With her quickly growing hand gently set atop Oliver's, they cut Connor's cake, and although Malaya was too excited about the concept of sugar to notice how odd it all was, the situation felt everything but normal. About five minutes passed as they celebrated alone, placing a slice each onto three different plates and setting one aside, both staring up at it as they took the first bite and wished they could hear the birthday boy's opinion; after all, they'd made sure it was his favorite, chocolate and strawberry.

 

"Hold on," Oliver mumbled, forcing a smile, "I'll go get your dad."

 

The bathroom light shone through the cracks beneath the door, but there wasn't a tap running, nor a toilet flushing- Oliver didn't bother knocking as he slowly pushed himself inside. It was a double vanity, and Connor was leaned over at the far end of the counter, glaring at the top of his head in the mirror with what looked like a clenched jaw and watery eyes, his fingers pulling at his hair.

 

Without looking from the reflection, Connor broke the silence through clenched teeth and an obvious lump in his throat, "Why didn’t you tell me I was going grey?"

 

"What?" Oliver was stunned, unsure whether to laugh or find himself a tad offended that Connor was blaming him for something so meaningless- it wasn't the color of his hair that he noticed, it was the way he woke up in the early morning, waves and curls a mess over his forehead, and noted how much he preferred the natural style, "Connor, I-"

 

"That's a grey hair," He was pulling at the roots, trying to show off a small patch where he'd noticed a few white hairs, nowhere near noticeable unless you were truly trying to find them; it was now that Oliver had to stifle a laugh, failing to do so and watching as Connor turned to him, finally, with tears welling behind his brown eyes and anger bubbling beneath his tone, "I'm forty one."

 

"And I'm forty two," Oliver responded as if they were just stating facts, like 'there's no eggs left' or 'the show starts at eight.' That's all his age had ever been to him, just a number, because his marriage had made him feel anything but old; it was his constant love for Connor that reminded him that age didn’t matter when you were totally and completely content, because even if he were to die tomorrow, he would've died happy.

 

It seemed, however, that Connor wasn't having the same thought process. With a slightly broken voice, he ran fingers through hair that was no where nearing grey, and continued, "My back hurt again this morning, and I couldn't find my pills, and-"

 

This time, Oliver didn't bother hiding his amusement, taking a step closer to his panicked husband and letting his palm fall against his jaw, covered in stubble; it wasn't a challenge for him to appreciate the wrinkles that had formed beneath his eyes, or the lines that traced his smile, "Yeah- that's what happens when you get old. What- you going to go buy hair dye and pretend it's not happening?"

 

For a second, there was a look of hope in his expression, "Should I?"

 

"God, no!" Oliver nearly shouted, but remembered Malaya was just rooms away before he took a step back and leaned against the counter, staring up at Connor through the same glasses he'd been wearing for years, his sight remaining the same no matter how many years gained on him, "You cant be serious- it's just a few greys, why are you so worried?"

 

"It's not just that, it's-" He cuts himself off, as if what he was about to say was something Oliver wouldn't want to hear. It's when he's given that look of expectance, the same one when he's expected to clean the dishes after the other cooks, that pushes him to go on, "We've got a five year old, we're both saving for retirement, and- god, Oliver, we have to plan out date night! It doesn’t matter how much I go to the gym, or work like I'm still twenty, I- I'm old. I don't want to be forty-one, that’s too old. God, that's too old."

 

"You don’t like date night?"

 

A small smile, a genuine one, slipped across his face, "I look foreword to Tuesday every week, but don't you remember? When we didn't need to go out to a fancy dinner to have a good conversation, or plan it weeks in advance, or even leave the bedroom at all. Do you know who plans date night?"

 

If he was referring to before they'd ever adopted, Oliver couldn't find himself wanting to remember- adopting had given his life a whole new meaning, a child changing him in every way possible and loving it every step of the way. They'd been fantastic parents, never missing an event, doing everything they could to get her into a prestigious kindergarten, making sure her education was equally as important as their family. Those nights, just the two of them spending hours beneath the sheets, seemed just as important as the memories they had of the three of them, a bowl of popcorn and a Disney movie, cuddled on the couch.

 

"Married couples," Oliver whispered and glanced down at their wedding bands, although he knew that wasn’t the answer Connor was looking for. Feeling a little betrayed but brushing it off as Connor sighed and muttered, 'you know that’s not what I meant,' he looked up and spoke quietly, almost scared to hear the answer, "Are you not happy?"

 

"Of course I'm happy-"

 

They were cut short as Malaya came bursting through the door, cake around her smile and a brightness to her eyes that caused them both to forget, for a moment, how much of a turn this night had taken. Reaching down to lift her from her feet, Oliver rested her on his hip and wiped the food from her face with the corner of his sleeve, "Did you eat all your cake?"

 

"All the cake!"

 

An idea came to mind as they stared up at each other, sharing a grin; although Connor's was a little weary, it didn't change the look of absolute admiration. Setting her back down, he watched as she pulled him back out to the kitchen to try a piece, and Oliver crept back towards the bedroom, tugging his phone from his pocket and closing the door behind him.

 

After a few rings and a nervous feeling that this wasn't going to work out, Michaela picked up the phone and Oliver began without much hesitation, "I know it's late, but would you mind babysitting for a couple hours?"

 

-

 

It was there behind his distant stare, the lingering feeling of knowing that he wasn’t getting any younger and there was simply no going back, but he'd pushed the worries to the back of his mind. Life would continue the way it always had, Connor had accepted that, accepted his age, and accepted that Malaya had eaten three pieces of cake and wasn't going to settle down until at least ten o'clock. As they both chased each other around the furniture, riling the old dog up enough to bark at them and fill the house with noise, Oliver was waiting.

 

"Was that the doorbell?"

 

Looking up from where he'd playfully thrown Malaya down into a pile of cushions, he cocked his head to the side and peered over at Oliver for an answer, "It's ten past seven."

 

"Will you go check?" Oliver answered casually, looking up from the paper as if he'd actually been interested in whatever the article was about, "I'm-"

 

The tiny patter of socked feet first ran eagerly through the house, then four paws, and Connor followed last, because their daughter couldn’t resist torturing the delivery guy or the pizza man, and Pasko loved to say hello. It was neither, he soon realized, as he swung open the door and Oliver heard a happy congratulations from the foyer, "Happy birthday! Change out of those pajamas!"

 

"What? I-"

 

"You're going out!"

 

The happy shout of Malaya's was a badly mispronounced version of Michaela's name, and she tried to correct her- it was no use. A minute later, Connor came back into the living room and looked down at Oliver; it'd been a while since he'd looked both confused and pleased, and he was enjoying the opportunity to surprise his husband for the first time in a long time, "Really?"

 

"Really," Oliver nodded, and gestured to the bedroom as Michaela began to take his place on the living room floor; she didn't quite play the same as Connor, but Malaya didn't mind sitting down to play with building blocks instead, even if she was secretly trying to teach her basic math, "Put something warm on."

 

In a matter of minutes, they were out the door, thanking their impromptu babysitter on the way to a cab that Oliver had called moments after he'd called Michaela. The man nodded to them as they both shuffled into the backseat, and as if he'd been told on the phone where to go, started the car without asking any questions.

 

It wasn't until they'd turned the corner, off their street and towards the city, that Connor looked down at where Oliver had reached out to hold his hand. They didn't do that often anymore, nor did they take cabs or leave the house this late at night; if he was being completely honest, sometimes they were asleep by eight. With a crooked smile and a curious excitement building beneath his chest, he met Oliver's stare, "Where are we going?"

 

"We're young," Oliver replied with a shrug, as if it wasn't a complete lie, both laughing aloud at what they could've considered irony, "We can do whatever the hell we want."

 

Fighting the urge to make out in the back of a cab, something they'd simply never done young nor old,  Connor watched out the window as they drove through the historic district of Philadelphia and came out along the waterfront, finally pulling up out-front Penn's Landing. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. From the backseat, Oliver passed the driver a twenty and they both stepped out, looking out across the Delaware River.

 

They hadn't been down to this area in months, maybe years- it was quite the sight, as the Benjamin Franklin Bridge had been turned into much more than that, in the distance but none the less breathtaking, the suspension cables twinkling with light and complimented by one hell of a sunset. The sun having just barely fallen beneath the horizon, the water was a dark blue and above was a crimson painting. Deep purple, orange, and fading yellow were spread in streaks across the sky, like it had been created from someone's wild imagination.

 

What Connor noticed seconds after the picture perfect view, was just how many people were around to witness it as well. The steps that were built in a half circle formation, usually the center for concerts or festivals, were full- but there was no stage, no band, not even a food truck nearby. Families, couples, teenagers; it was more crowded that Oliver had ever seen it on an average Friday, but he didn't let that ruin their mood. As they walked towards the  barrier between cement and river, trying to see if there was an area where no one was standing, someone in the distance screamed over the noisy crowd, "They're starting!"

 

Wondering if Oliver had known something he didn’t, Connor looked to his right, "What's going on?"

 

"I honestly have no-"

 

A blast ripped through the darkening sky, and everyone immediately shouted out with a loud 'hurrah!' They both followed the noise to watch, with complete surprise, as a firework split into hundreds of colorful bursts of light. Not a second had passed before another one followed, and the echo bounced off the surrounding buildings, setting everything aglow with beautiful hues.

 

"Come on," Oliver grinned, feeling childish- but then again, wasn't that the point? Taking his husbands hand and threading their fingers together, he tugged him to an area just outside the crowd, further down from the steps but you could watch the show from just about anywhere. With a nudge against his shoulder, Connor looked over to find him flashing a flask from beneath his jacket.

 

"Holy shit," Connor sounded as though he couldn’t believe it, watching as Oliver looked around before loosening the cap and tucking it into his pocket, "I love you, so much."

 

They put just a few more feet of distance between the crowd of 'ooh's' and 'aah's' before taking turns, both letting the alcohol heat their bodies in a way that clothes never could, staring up at the fireworks with more awe after each shot, goose bumps rising along their arms and their hearts beating quick beneath their ribs.

 

Looking away as there was a break in the display, Connor smiled and leaned into his husbands warmth, feeling tipsy- they didn't drink much any more, barely at all, and his tolerance had fallen to an all time low, "Why-"

 

Oliver simply assumed what he was about to ask, slipping his palm beneath Connor's shirt and running loose fingers along the small of his back, pulling him in closer, "You're never 'too old,' I just wanted you to know that."

 

"Do you remember," Connor's lips were curled up, leaning over the railing and staring down at the water a moment before turning back to Oliver, sporting that familiar look of sincerity; it was the same one he'd seen many times before, like when he'd surprised him with a puppy, or a ring, or his entire family at the airport, "When you first told me you loved me?"

 

The happiness accompanied with that cherished memory came back to Oliver like sunlight on a cold day, and maybe it was the booze or possibly the fireworks, but his heart felt suddenly swollen in the best way possible. With a warm laugh, he squinted at Connor through smudged lenses and teased, "Pretty sure you said it first."

 

"You talked me into it," Connor recalls, acting as though he was still mad but both knew it had to be said, and along with a little red wine and music, it would've come out either way. They lost themselves in each other's stare for a moment, as if studying the colour of the others eyes, memorizing the little lines and various shades; they were always so busy, it'd felt like a while since they'd done taken even a minute to really look at eachother, even during dinner always checking emails or reading the menu, distracted by everything but the other.

 

As the second round of explosions began, Oliver didn't look away to watch. Reaching up slowly, he placed a gentle hold against Connor's face, his thumb sliding against his cheek, and leaned over. The loud bursts in the sky felt nothing like the butterflies pounding in their chests and suddenly it was as if they'd reverted back to their first date and now it was new again, exciting as it had been- this was a feeling they'd both missed without taking a chance to realize it.

 

Ignoring that they were in public, too old to be making out like teenagers on a date, and a firework show was supposed to be the main event, they fell against each other like they hadn't in a long time, time no longer relevant. As soon as they'd pulled away, catching their breath and smiling sheepishly at the other, the same response was sitting idle on the end of both tongues- this wasn't over.

 

"Hold on," Oliver mumbled as Connor looked over to see him texting, seemingly a little disappointed until a beep came back through the speaker and he lifted the screen to show off- Michaela, the trooper that she was, had agreed to stay the night if the last piece of cake had her name on it.

 

As the firework show reached a dramatic and much awaited climax, the crowds cheered once more, and Connor immediately tapped Oliver on the shoulder as soon as they'd come to an end. Across and down the street a half a block, a large sign hung with the word 'Hilton' lit up in green and white; neither had to discuss the possibility before they were stumbling towards it, arms around the others shoulders, keeping each other balanced as they let the cold wind sober them up enough to get through this next part.

 

"Room for two," Connor flashed a cheesy smile as they reached the inside of the hotel and made their way towards the front desk, and the service attendant clicked away at her keyboard, flashing a curious look up at the two swaying men trying to stand still in front of her.

 

"The only thing I can offer you is a package deal," She was expecting a no, but both men nodded without hesitation; neither were considering the price at this point, "It's a bit more expensive, but you'll get a suite-style room, and a late checkout. Is that-"

 

"It's perfect," Connor almost slurred his words, and Oliver giggled like he was fourteen and trying to pretend he was sober, "On credit, please."

 

The woman dealt with them as quickly as possible, working to get them a pair of keys and away from her desk, but by the time she did hand the card over, they'd both decided it wasn't time to go to the room just yet. Looking across the floor, they'd quickly spotted the hotel bar and it must not have been an especially busy weekend because there was more than enough seats to choose from.

 

"Do you know," Oliver slipped clumsily onto the stool and Connor did the same, tucking the card into his wallet as he looked over, "how nervous I was, that first night we met? No one, and I mean no one, came up to me in bars. Granted, I'm pretty sure now you were just using me for information-"

 

"But you were so damn sexy," Connor finished his sentence, lowering his voice as the bartender started towards them, "That I just had to come back for seconds."

 

"And apparently, marriage," Oliver subtly winked as the man asked Connor what he could get, and before he could order their usual red wine, he interrupted and answered instead, "Two shots- vodka? Vodka."

 

"Are you sure-"

 

"We're young," Oliver repeated for the second time tonight. It really wasn't a lie, in his opinion- it was about how you honestly felt that decided your age, and if they could still get hammered at a hotel bar and watch fireworks with the amazement of someone who'd never seen them before, then the birthday count didn't really matter. If he could get that specific message across, than maybe Connor wouldn't worry so much about the signs of ageing or the daunting thought of retirement, and possibly realize that growing older didn't have anything to do with the numbers on a candle.

 

The point he'd been trying to make all night still wasn't quite coming off as he'd hoped, and Connor sighed, "We're not- you know that, too."

 

"Listen," Oliver leaned closer while his voice fell to a near whisper, and his hand slid onto Connor's knee, possibly moving a little further up his thigh, "You- you make me feel like whatever I want to be. I don’t think about how old I am, or that my back gets sore every once in a while, I think about how happy you've made me and how lucky I've been to spend all those years with you. And then, I think about how many more we've got together."

 

"But-"

 

"Your hair is always going to be just as perfect as it is now, your wrinkles are rugged and sexy, and retirement just means more time to do this," Oliver argued, and to prove it, reached for the shot glass that the bartender had set in front of him and let the glass tip against his bottom lip.

 

Like he'd just chewed on a sour lemon, Oliver's face distorted not a second after he'd swallowed, his lips pursing and nose crinkling; Connor laughed so loud that it filled the bar, "That's the exact same face you made, the first time I bought you a drink. And, it’s the face you made the first time I-"

 

"Aright," Oliver shushed him before he could dive into an explanation that had instantly caused his cheeks to fill with the color of a rose, acting annoyed but he was a good actor, a smirk creeping across his blushing face, "Hey- happy birthday."

 

"Can we just, I don’t know, not do birthdays any more?"

 

"No way," He shook his head immediately, absolute disapproval obvious in the way he did so; they were one of his favorite holidays, if they could be considered a holiday, and he wouldn't give up the opportunity to celebrate a day that was all about the man he'd never stop loving, no matter how old or grey, "Not a chance. But, for you, no more numbered candles."


	11. Chapter 11

_Losing Someone_

 

The sun rose uncrowded by clouds that morning, bright and welcoming instead, the birds rejoicing loudly in the new found warmth of spring. It was early May, around the time when those familiar pink and purple flowers started to sprout near the back door, the same ones Malaya had pulled from the dirt when she was a child and braided through her hair as she grew older.

 

That was the morning they're phone had rung, and no one had suspected that a call could change so much.

 

A joke wasn't as funny when it was true, and that’s what it had been for years and years. A simple bug or the common cold and Oliver would have a fit, start making tea and chicken soup and laying out medication like it was candy. If either his husband or daughter's forehead hinted at a fever, they'd be in the car on the way to the emergency room, and that's just who he was- a little bit paranoid, but more caring than anyone they'd ever met.

 

So when he'd complained of a cough that he just couldn't shake, Connor had brushed it off, and Oliver shrugged along and decided it would have to fade eventually. A chest pain followed, a couple months later, and still he worried more about his family than his own health. Realistically, they should've noticed sooner; he was tired more often than not, running out of breath before he'd even made it halfway through their evening walk, but it was easy enough to attribute these to growing old.

 

"Hold on Dad," Malaya hurried to Oliver's side moments after they'd parked outside her New York college campus, beaming with joy at the thought of having the whole family home for the summer. As they'd walked to the car, it didn’t go unnoticed- he was walking slower than usual, and she grabbed his arm while they crossed through the parking lot, "You look tired- was there a lot of traffic?"

 

It was only a few hours worth of driving, and the roads had been clear. It was mid-afternoon and Oliver shook his head, smiling over at Connor and sharing a mutual twinkle in their eyes, "We just decided on the scenic route, thought it'd be nice to see the ocean."

 

"And it was," Connor nodded, grinning back; they'd become more sentimental in the years nearing their retirement, only six months away now and both already planning all the things they'd do. Malaya had listened patiently multiple times over the phone, as they went on about how they planned to move into a smaller cottage, go on a vacation through Europe, see places they'd both so far only dreamed of.

 

Oliver lifted the trunk when they'd reached the car and took Malaya's suitcase from her arms, wincing just a bit as he carefully placed the weight in the compartment and closed the door. She shot him an odd glance, "What's up, old man?"

 

"Not that old," Oliver retorted, teasing with a light shove that turned quickly into a fatherly hug, "Just a little rusty- missed you, kiddo."

 

They rolled the windows down on the way home, watching the tall buildings transition into open land and back into the familiar surroundings of Philadelphia. There was memories in every nook and cranny of this city for all three in the car, laughing and smiling as they shared stories from the months they'd been separated.

 

School had been fantastic, years away from graduation but no fear in Malaya's mind; nursing was what she'd been born to do, she knew it, and every class was more proof. They'd spoke about how proud they were, how the house had been a bit quiet, just the two of them, but they'd made it work; they listened to the radio, talked until the sun went down, watched movies, played cards, cooked meals fit for a king- they were just waiting patiently for the day when neither would have to go back to work, and then, as Oliver said, 'the real adventure begins.'

 

They told her about how they'd both been to see the doctor the day before, how he'd lectured them about waiting so long before coming back to get a check up and they reiterated that they'd both been busy, working the hardest they had in years, putting money into an account that they'd both vowed not too touch until the time came; soon, they'd be taking it out to book plane tickets, packing bags, waving goodbye to the city for a while.

 

And not an hour after they'd woken up the next day, generously pouring mugs of coffee with tired eyes and sleepy smiles, the phone rang through the house. It was Connor who'd pushed himself up from where he'd been reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, smiling absently at the article; he wasn’t reading it much, just simply appreciating his company.

 

As if it was ten years earlier and Malaya was eleven years old again, she laughed and jumped up, racing him to the phone, catching it first. Suppressing a smile, she spoke in an overly professional tone, "You've reached the Hampton-Walsh household."

 

The grin on her face faded slowly as she mumbled 'mhm,' and crossed the room hastily, "It's your doctor."

 

-

 

One month.

 

That’s how long they'd given Oliver, diagnosed with lung cancer, stage four and spreading so rapidly that no one knew where to start- he hadn't even considered chemotherapy, would flinch away if anyone had even spoke the word. It'd been made clear from the first conversation that it wasn't going to cure a thing, and if anything might prolong the time he had left; however, it wouldn't be easy, painless, or enjoyable.

 

Connor had begged him, 'just give it a chance, we don’t know-'

 

'We know,' Oliver had argued back, stubborn and convinced, coughing between words, 'That's not how I want to spend the rest of our lives.'

 

May came and went- he'd been moved from his own home to a hospital bed, cared for twenty-four seven by nurses, doctors, and his family. They hadn't let up, constantly by his side, offering him anything he could need as the light in his eyes faded a little bit with each day- life shouldn't have a deadline, and Connor was ignoring the calendar with every bit of energy he had. Ignoring everything would've been a better way to put it; work, the lawn, any social life they'd had.

 

June began and ended, as did July- they'd forced Malaya to go back to school, not wanting to listen to any excuses. Oliver wouldn't listen for a moment, shaking his head from the bed where he'd been lying from months, 'Back to New York- you don't worry about me, I'll be fine. You- one day, you're going to be taking care of someone like me, the best damn nurse they'll ever have.'

 

Not three weeks later, she'd picked up a call from Connor, a soft-voiced whisper as he struggled through the words, "Now might be a good time to come back- just for a few days."

 

They both knew what that meant- it'd been four months since the diagnosis, a miracle to the doctors who'd been taking care of him, to the friends that had visited and the nurses that had kept him comfortable. Connor and Malaya, however, had been holding their breathe since day one- four months and they were still half-expecting to wake up and have Oliver back on his feet, the hospital a thing of the past as they walked out, no wheelchair, no tubes. It was an image they dreamed of, asleep or awake, thought about constantly- it was the definition complete denial, and the only one who'd accepted the situation was Oliver.

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I'm sure," Connor sounded as if he were choking on air, the world collapsing on him as he tried to stay calm and collected, "Do you need-"

 

"No. Stay there," Malaya had answered, knowing that he was going to ask if she needed a ride and where he'd much rather be; he barely ever left the bedside, only when he really had to. He hadn't gone back to work ever since Oliver had been hospitalized, losing weight and motivation but still he refused to give up hope, "I'll be there in the morning."

 

Only, she couldn't wait. Barely an hour had passed before Malaya had stuffed a few outfits into a backpack and bought a last minute bus ticket to Philadelphia. There was anger, sadness, confusion all caught in her throat- she wouldn’t cry, and instead put all her emotions into the determination to get home. From the college, she'd called a cab to the terminal, and from there she only had ten minutes before she was boarding a large bus- it was about half full, and she hid in the back, thinking of nothing but her father.

 

It took two and a half hours, an eternity it seemed, before the bus was stopping. From there, it was one more cab- the time on her phone flashed near ten at night, and she wondered if they'd still be awake, if she should've waited. The night would've gone on forever, sleepless and restless, and Malaya decided being at the hospital was the only place she'd be somewhat content.

 

As it had started to feel like a second home over the summer, she easily knew the way to his room without having to ask for directions, and the staff knew her face, knew her father; it was three floors up, around two corners, past the desk with the blonde lady that always flashed them the same look of sympathy, and in through the door with a slight dent beside the door knob.

 

The door, when she'd reached it, was ajar an inch or two, and Malaya stopped herself before pushing through. It wasn't surprising to find Connor awake, but Oliver was too; he slept so often lately, barely ever conscious long enough to hold conversation, opening his eyes only to look up with gratitude, ask Connor how he was, and drift back off.

 

Both had a smile across their aging faces, peering into the other's wide eyes; it was a smile that spoke more than words ever could, as if they were thanking each other, appreciating each other. Malaya recognized it with a tightness in her chest- they'd smiled the same way the day she'd taken a bow at her first dance recital,  during her graduation when they'd called her name, every time she blew out the birthday candles.

 

Love wasn't so obviously shown in any other gesture than their mutual smile, as if they couldn't believe what they'd built, what they had, how lucky they were. It was a smile that Malaya hoped one day to share with someone, and often wondered if any two could love each other the way her father's did.

 

But it had never had quite the same hint of sadness that she could recognize now, peering through the window of the door with a knot inside her chest. They were smiling through tears that threatened to spill like the emotions bubbling beneath, hands clenched so tightly together that it was more like they were holding on, like neither wanted to let go because it meant so much more than simply pulling their fingers apart.

 

She took the sight in with a heavy inhale, holding in a thousand that were inching to the surface. They'd both gone grey, Connor's hair lighter than Oliver's, his peppered with black and yet it was thinner, shorter as well. Something they'd often say to each other echoed in Malaya's mind, 'grey suits you just right.' It was as though it held some personal meaning to them, and it hurt that she might never know exactly what it was.

 

The muffled voice of Connor broke the silence, and it was then that his composure broke and he'd swallowed a sob. Never letting go of Oliver's hand, never looking away, he leaned closer and spoke through a lump in his throat, "Sickness and health- remember?"

 

He'd been saying that since the first day of his diagnosis, as soon as Oliver had began to worry about how much he was sacrificing to take care of him; he'd pressure him to go back to work, but Connor would reject the idea as soon as it'd left his lips. They were in this together, until whenever the end came- Malaya hoped the end wasn't as soon as it seemed.

 

"I remember," His voice was hoarse and quiet, and he rarely used it anymore, always aching and fighting through waves of pain, constantly washing over him and leaving him with little relief. Nodding to the stand beside his bed, Oliver spoke a little louder and through a soft smile, "I want to see you- will you?"

 

He wore stronger glasses now, his sight having faded more than ever in the last few years, and Malaya had adopted his genes and now wore her own; in fact, they were his old pair, the pair he'd claimed to be wearing when he'd met Connor, large square rims and a bit worn with time. She adjusted her own out of habit while watching as he did the same, fixing them over his nose. For a moment, he stared back at Connor through the lenses; sighing, he lifted his absent hand and let his fingers brush against his husbands stubble covered jaw, "You've made me so happy."

 

The plea came out strangled and his expression distorted with the effort of trying to conceal the reality that his heart was shattering, like finally all the false hope he'd built up was coming crashing down on top of it like a heavy brick, "I want to keep making you happy. Damn it, Ollie, I need to keep making you happy."

 

"You'll make everyone else happy," Oliver was holding himself together and Malaya couldn't decide if it was for Connor's sake or his own, but she watched, her lip trembling as he continued, "That smile- you're contagious, you know?"

 

"No," Connor was shaking his head, cheeks red like a child throwing a tantrum. It hurt to watch, and Malaya saw him grab Oliver's hand so tight it caused the muscles of his arm to swell; suddenly her view went blurry, and she wiped a stray tear off her cheek, "No, please- I'm not ready. It's not- this isn't fair."

 

They'd been fighting so hard to stay positive, to keep their attitudes light and their hopes high, that Malaya wondered if this was the first time Oliver had really seen him like this. It just seemed right not to act as if it were over, and so they hadn't- it was a struggle to visit the hospital day after day without faltering enthusiasm, even if he'd gone home to an empty house and cried. Cried because it was empty, cried because that wouldn't change, cried because he'd be sleeping alone, cooking and cleaning and living all alone; he didn't tell Oliver this, didn't want to make him feel worse than the cancer did, didn't want him to picture such a thing while he too tried to make the best out of a situation that couldn't possibly be any worse.

 

"Not yet," Oliver whispered back, running his fingers over the back of Connor's hand in an attempt to comfort his husband, they're wedding bands clicking together, "Not yet."

 

It had been a question Malaya knew that Connor had been wondering for a while, and he asked as Oliver gently wiped tears from beneath his eyes, "Are you- aren't you scared?"

 

"A little," Oliver didn't think before he answered, didn't have too- of course he was scared, even if he didn't act it, and Malaya could tell in the way he frowned that this wasn't the first time he'd considered the fear. As Connor nodded, he continued, "Not as much, when you're here."

 

It was out of pure desperation that Connor responded with frustration caught in his words, "I can't do anything-"

 

"You've done everything," Oliver shook his head, coughing before he added in a quieter tone, all the talking wearing on his energy, "You've kept me happy- what else could I ask for?"

 

"I'm scared, Ollie," Connor was trying to stay strong, fighting to keep himself from falling to his knees and sobbing as he did when he was alone, whenever he tried to accept that there was no saving the man he loved so much, "I'm not- I really can't do this without you."

 

"I said," Oliver was losing breath now, hoarse and sore, "Not yet."

 

The room went silent once more as Connor refused to believe that he'd done anything at all, failing to stifle a sob, and Malaya did the same. With a shove, she pushed open the door and barreled across the room, quickly crawling atop the bed and wrapping her arms around Oliver with a strength she knew was too much; she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t hold back as she buried her face in his chest and began to cry harder than she had in weeks. The doctors would lecture her if they'd seen, but it was just them, just their small family caught amidst a moment of pure heartache.

 

Oliver hushed her quiet, and after a few minutes, Malaya found that she could breath again, although her chest felt heavy and unsatisfied. Kissing the top of her head as he'd done since she could remember, he grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly, "Missed you."

 

"I should've come sooner," She mumbled, "I was so worried-"

 

"Don’t you worry about me," Oliver was flashing a barely-there grin, his attempt at reconciling her with a confidence he wasn't sure he had, "You worry about you. School, studying-"

 

"Dada-"

 

"Listen," His tone was rough, tired, "When you do something great, and I'm not around-"

 

"Come on," She begged, "Don't talk like that."

 

"I won't always be around," He continued, weak but sure about what he was saying, like he'd been wanting to tell his daughter this for some time, "But I already know you're going to be fantastic- you've already made me proud. Don’t wish that I was there, because I already know."

 

Memories weren't quite as sweet as the moment itself, but they brought them up in an attempt to relive that feeling, to remind themselves how beautiful the moments they'd spent together really were. The time they'd driven hours and hours to reach a beach that was completely empty, let the dog off the leash and unpacked a lunch, took pictures and laughed and laughed. Singing together in the car, painting the house with color-covered overalls, playing catch in the backyard with their feet buried in grass that never seemed to stay short.

 

It was Connor and Malaya, mostly, who talked back and forth, who shared these stories- for hours, for the entire night. He sat next to the cot with his hands wrapped around Oliver's, she lay beside him in the bed; they were his walls, keeping him steady. All he had to do was smile, listen, and soon enough the words became a dream and his eyelids were fluttering, his energy dwindling until he fell asleep content as he'd been in some time.

 

The chair wasn't comfy, but she'd fallen asleep there, chin against her own shoulder and curled into a ball of some sort. It wasn't until much later that she was woken up, the room mostly dark but the beeping from the machine was still there, a heartbeat that was slow but it was enough. Not the only noise, Malaya realized, while she kept her eyes closed but listened, listened because there was nothing else she could do.

 

Her fathers words were spoken to thin air, knowing that he couldn't be heard but there's possibly a part of him that hoped what he says make it through.

 

"You changed me, Ollie, you changed my life. You were my life- are," A sob broke through his tight lips, and the emotion that he'd been holding in came pouring out like a wave over the shore, all that he'd held back in an attempt to keep Oliver calm now rushing to the surface, "We were so close to retiring- damn it, it would've been so nice. And those patio chairs, I never got you the patio chairs because it seemed like something old people would do. Like, really old, and I didn't want to give in-"

 

The words were muffled and almost unintelligible but he never stopped, losing his own breath as he continued, "Thank you, for your patience, for being my- you kept me sane, you made me feel everything that I never thought was possible, and even when I thought that I couldn't fall in love with you any more than I had, you- You proved me wrong. I don't know what I'm going to do. Oh god, what am I going to do-"

 

She'd never heard her father cry like this, like someone who'd lost everything, as if there was absolutely nothing left. It was enough to shatter her heart, the sound of his sobs so heavy that he could no longer inhale, that he was fighting for breath but it wasn't working, his lungs incapable to handle so much, "I- can't- do this alone, Ollie- please, I can't be- alone."

 

And he wasn't, even if it felt so much like he'd lost the only one in the world. Malaya pushed herself from the chair and fell to the floor beside where he'd collapsed, wrapped her arms around his shaking shoulders and tried to steady the earthquake beneath his bones- Connor's pain filled the room, and he held onto his daughter, held on to the only person who could remind him that this wasn't the end.

 

August 24th, five after six in the morning- they'd both barely slept, and the nurse had come in when the sun rose; she'd confirmed the haunting suspicion neither had had the courage to voice aloud, that it was life support doing what Oliver's body was supposed to do on it's own.

 

Tongues tied and hands threaded together, they'd held their breath until it was over and they were left with a hole in their hearts so big that they both wondered if it would hurt forever. Of course it would, Connor knew that confidently, but it was a hole that was so much more than empty. Oliver had left behind happiness, sadness, passion, sympathy, and the recollection of a life together that he wouldn't only cherish but would also use to slowly fill the hole; the hole wasn't something that would ever leave him, but that's how it was meant to be, memories of Oliver there beside him so that he never felt completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who's stuck along on this entire journey.


End file.
